


Valkyrie

by 5cents



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Complex Societies, Danes, Destiny, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Fate, Heathen justice, Heathen politics, Heirs, Humor, Legacies, Legends, Lots of feasting and drinking, Mawwiage ordained by the gods, Medieval Scandinavia, Murder, Mysticism, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Old Norse and Icelandic, Paganism, Pillaging, Political Prisoner of War, Romance, Sexual Assault, Shieldmaiden Rey, Skywalker Viking Saga, Slavery, Soul Bond, The Aesir being the Force, Viking Kylo Ren, Viking bride, Viking to-do list of: sailing, Vikings, Violence, historic elements, mentioned rape (no actual rape), norsemen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 115,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23079772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5cents/pseuds/5cents
Summary: The story of a marriage and of a war.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Kylo Ren
Comments: 258
Kudos: 224





	1. The Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CHARACTERS**
> 
>   
> Jóhannes the Sea-Rider..... Han
> 
> Leidvar Akisdóttir, the Seer..... Leia
> 
> Leidolf Akisson..... Luke
> 
> Aki the Skywalker, Wolf of the Waves/Jarl Valdyr..... Anakin/Vadar
> 
> Oddveig the Hugr-Heavy..... Padmé Amidala
> 
> Bengeirr Jóhannesson/Kylo the Wren..... Ben/Kylo 
> 
> Reynhildur God’s-Eye..... Rey 
> 
> Fakse Wildheart..... Phasma
> 
> Úrœkja..... Unkar
> 
> Ljúfvina..... Larma
> 
> Kadlin..... Kaydel
> 
> Thorkel..... Threepio
> 
> Arta..... Artoo 
> 
> Cnut..... Chewie 
> 
> Jarl Baldur/Badr Ibn Osman Pasha..... Bail Organa 
> 
> Rolf the Old..... Ruwee Naberrie
> 
> King Ozur..... Zuvio
> 
> Lodmund Whitebeard, the Lawspeaker..... Lor San Tekka
> 
> Yrjö the Rune-Writer..... Yoda
> 
> Yade..... Yaddle
> 
> Svein Snake-in-the-Eye, the North King..... Sheev 
> 
> Snærr..... Snoke
> 
> Ubba, the Hut King..... Jabba the Hutt
> 
> Hrafn..... Darth Revan 
> 
> Bjarne the Cruel..... Darth Bane
> 
> Brondolf Flame-Hair..... Brendol Hux
> 
> Arnmundur the Quarrelsome..... Armitage Hux
> 
> Withulf Taki (“The Taker”)..... Wilhuff Tarkin
> 
> Beimuni the Keen..... Beaumont Kin
> 
> Kveldulf..... Ki-Adi-Mundi
> 
> Rain/Sassa..... Darth Zannah
> 
> Åsa the Far-Seer..... Ahsoka Tano
> 
> To be continued...

__

_Once upon a time..._

_The world belonged not to Man,  
but to the Gods of Valhalla…_

By the time she had five seasons, Reynhildur had grown used to the way people stared and then looked away. She’d become numb to the space that always formed around her as she walked through Húsavík with her father while they did their trade and made their offering to the jarl.

Now that she had ten seasons, she made sport of people’s fear, to turn on them the eye they so dreaded and pull a face so that they might spend a sleepless night or three, waiting to see how she had cursed them.

The few souls of her own tiny village were less fearful but not much more warm. Even those who’d known her from birth thought there was something fantastical about her, something they could not understand. Some thought her a boon, others a bane, but none thought her simply a girl. Only Fakse, who had been a mother to her, who had found her that day when, a eight-year-old girl, she had stood alone in the smoldering ashes of her home, the bodies of her slain kin all around; Fakse, whose rough and careless kindness had taken in the daughter of her oldest friend and comrade and raised her as her own, who had given her her first wooden sword, taught her all she knew, and raised her to the warrior caste in turn, spared her of her fear.

Fakse called it awe, that thing that turned people away from her, but Rey thought that point too fine to split. Fear or awe, it meant friendlessness.

Rey bore the Eye of the Gods. She herself had never seen it very clearly — she kept no looking-glass, and her reflection in water was of only a girl — but it must have been a fearsome thing to behold. 

“Usch, Rey,” Fakse said, combing back a loose brunette tress and tucking it into Rey’s braid. “You must go off on your own for a while, my sweet. You know Úrœkja will not trade with me if he sees you.” She pressed a small piece of hacksilver into Rey’s hand. “Go get your sweet. But stay in sight of the docks and listen to my call.”

“Ja, Fakse.”

Fakse patted her head and gave her a loving smile, and Rey wandered off on her own, tucking the hacksilver into her sleeve. She wouldn’t spend it. The sweets-monger was the worst place in Húsavík for her. All the children loosed from their parents congregated there. And children turned their fear into cruelty. 

But she let Fakse think she got to enjoy a treat; it eased her mind, and Rey knew that Fakse felt people’s crude fear almost as keenly as she herself did.

She had expected to be sent off, she was on every trip to town, and she had a place she went to spend that time. That night, at home, she would return the bit of hacksilver to Fakse’s leather pouch. They could not afford to spend that even on sweets, especially imaginary sweets.

Giving a wide berth to the sweets-monger and to the crowded square before the great hall of Húsavík, Rey walked to the farthest edge of town, where the woods began again. If she stood up on a rock and rose on her toes, she could see the docks. Fakse’s voice was big and booming, and Rey knew she would hear her call when it came.

There was a tree here, an old, gnarled tree, whose roots and trunk had grown in such a way as to make something of a snug little nook, almost a cave. She’d found it several months ago, and no one else in the world seemed to know of it. She had padded the ground inside the mosses, and she always found it just as she left it, as if even the woodland creatures understood it to be her den. 

When she tucked herself in, she thought she was well hidden, though no one had ever come upon her so that she might know for certain that she would not be seen.

Until she heard Fakse’s call, Rey would sit in the snug, safe burrow. She would close her eyes, and she would tell herself stories. Stories of Rey the Skjaldmeyjar. Rey the Voyager. Rey the Great Jarlskona.

Names preferred to the ways she was known: Rey the Fatherless. Rey the Strange. Rey the Cursed.

Just lately, her stories had begun to include a strapping young raider. A warrior, a real man, with fantastical pictures etched into his bare chest. The same one who invaded her dreams. She really didn’t understand why. He did not have a face yet, but whoever he was, he was out there, waiting to love her. But how could any man love a curse?

She had gotten well into a story about leading a raid across the sea when the crackle and thunder of heavy feet tromping into the woods broke through her reverie. It appeared that she would have a chance to know if her den were secure as she’d thought it to be.

Her heart thumping, she hunkered low and peered through the laced roots of her tree. A demon was dragging a boy — older than she, Rey thought, but yet too slight of shoulder and smooth of cheek to be a man — into the woods. The boy resisted, his dark hair flying, but the demon was much bigger, and he threw him to the ground.

“On your knees!” the Demon shouted, and the boy clambered to his feet. 

“Master, please!”

“No words from you! You have spoken your last word, boy. I said on your knees!” And he spoke, the Demon drew his axe and swung it at the boy’s knee.

The boy howled in pain and fell to his knees, his hands grabbing at the one the demon had hit. Rey, secreted in her wooden nook, gasped and covered her mouth. She expected a gush of blood, but there was none. The axe was clean as well. The Demon must have hit the boy with the flat or the back. Small mercy, that, but a mercy nonetheless. 

Rey felt sick and scared — and she felt an emotion that seemed new to her, an anger bigger than she’d known before. It felt like fire in her joints. It made her fist clench, and it made her body want to come up from the ground. It made her want to stand. It made her want to do much more than that.

But she was just a girl, sitting under a tree, nothing remotely like a weapon on her. She looked around her for a rock or a stick, but there was nothing apt nearby.

Then the boy made a strange, strangled noise, and Rey returned her attention to him. The Demon had him by the head — no, by the tongue. He had pulled the boy’s tongue out and had it pinched between his fingers. Though the boy struggled, the demon must have been very strong. She didn’t understand why the demon would be holding the boy’s tongue like that. 

Then Rey saw the knife, and she understood.

She was standing before she’d realized it, and she was walking toward them, a little girl, small for her age, no armor but the light wool of her summer hangerock.

“STOP!” she called, moving steadily toward them. “STOP.”

The Demon did stop, and he turned toward her. The change in his attention loosened his hold on the boy, who pulled away then tried to run. But his hurt knee collapsed, and he fell and could only scrabble backward to a tree.

The hideous face leered at Rey from under its cowl and advanced on her, raising the hand that had held the boy’s tongue. “Little girls should not be alone in the woods. They might—”

He stopped, and his yellow eyes went wide. Rey knew he had come close enough to see her eyes. To really see them. To especially see how they changed from the green color of the lichen that covered much of the hillsides to amber. 

She pulled herself up as tall as she could and made her shoulders as broad as she could. Her heart raced and her knees shook, but she made her voice steady and deep and said, “Do not harm him.”

A knife cut, a gurgle sounded. The Demon clutched at his throat, while his other arm flailed, and then turned back toward the boy, a blade in his hand dripping black blood. He didn’t say a word, but came close to that as he could and preserve any dignity at all. 

Rey turned to the boy, who now sat by the corpse, his face bleeding and his knee swelling. She smiled and went to him, meaning to help him stand, or offer to get aid from town. Meaning to help him.

But he turned wide, scared eyes — both of them smelted iron — on her and then he was gone, slipped back into the ether so still it was as though nothing had happened at all.

How long had she been staring at the same empty spot?

She’d thought she was inured to that fear, but this time, she felt badly wounded by it. A tightness closed in around her heart, and she ran away. 

She ran back into town and sat at the docks until Fakse was ready for the journey home. She didn’t look to see if the boy ever came out of the woods. 

And she didn’t bother to tell herself a story.

~oOo~

“Oof!” Rey landed hard on the ground, and her already aching tailbone complained sharply.

“Sword out, Sister. This you must remember. Sword and shield, both are protection, and both are weapons.” Fakse shifted her shield and held out her hand. She pulled Rey up and then took a step back, brandishing her sword. She had advanced Rey’s training to real, honed swords only the week before. “No one is born clutching a sword, not even I. Again.”

Rey made herself ready and circled, following her friend’s movements. “I want to learn the axe,” she said and blocked Fakse with her shield. 

“Good! Now attack.”

Remembering to come around the side rather than step forward, Rey swung her sword, aiming for Fakse’s shoulder on her sword side and remembering to slash, not stab. But Fakse parried her easily.

“The sword is the first weapon, and the most important.” Rey moved, and parried. “When you are skilled with the sword, then you will learn the axe.” Rey took a big step sideways and almost made contact, forcing Fakse to turn into her move and block her. Grinning, Fakse nodded and added, “As long as you keep up your work, and the other sisters have no more cause to find us out.” Fakse waved her shield. “Enough for today. They will be home before the sun sets, and we both have work to do before they arrive.”

Fakse nodded toward the house, and Rey followed, knowing that the first work they had to do was clean their swords. Fakse insisted that they be tended to after every use, even though no blood had been drawn in her training. 

And they sat at the table and honed and polished the heavy blade, Rey grumbled, “They should be proud that I want to be like them.”

Fakse had been a great skjaldmeyjar. In the songs, she was known as Fakse Wildheart, the warrior, the war leader, fearless, powerful, respected, a queen among her people; Fakse Wildheart, whose ships, once sighted, struck terror in the hearts of her enemies; and it was said that she had fought trolls and even giants of Jötunheim. Rey knew that the stories were bigger than the woman with blue eyes like two chips of ice, but there was truth in her greatness nonetheless. She had seen with her own strange eyes Fakse fight off raiders, with the ferocity and strength of a Valkyrie.

And yet the others would not hear of their youngest sister picking up a sword and shield and following their path. It was all Rey wanted, and it was the only path to fulfillment available to her. She would never know love, never build a family. She had thirteen seasons now, and she knew already that no one would ever love her like a woman. 

People shrank from her; in fear or in awe, they shrank from her. Those in awe of her might leave a gift on the doorstep in search of a boon from the magic they thought her to have, but none would ever come close enough to know her. 

So Rey would use that fear, that awe. She would be a great skjaldmeyjar, like Fakse and Ljúfvina before her. She would do so against their wishes, because they could deny her nothing. 

“You know by now the Sisters want another path for you.”

They did. Rey had four older sisters. Three had died defending the village and had achieved Valhalla. One had been lost to a childhood fever. Ljúfvina hadn’t the heart to lose another. She wanted her only surviving sisters, made widowed or orphaned, safe. 

Rey revealed nothing of these thoughts, hiding her pain as she had all those years ago. What ill fate was it that she was always spared when those she loved were slain? Too much care and love made a woman vulnerable. It was a lesson she had learned early in life, a lesson harshly reinforced now. If you did not love, there could be no hurt. Was it thus, then, that a woman must protect herself?

But Rey had been different. Not much different — Rey felt like a girl, a young woman, and she had no special powers she’d ever been able to discern — but different in a way the people of her world couldn’t accept. 

They thought she bore the eye Odin, the Allfather, had sacrificed for his wisdom. They thought she had seen Asgard. They thought she had brought the sight of the gods to Midgard with her. 

“There is no other path for me.”

Fakse nodded. She was training Rey because she agreed, holding that a woman should be schooled in self-defense as well as a man, and because she would be proud for Rey to fight and kill and defend their home. Fakse and her first husband had not married for love, but they had fallen in love fighting side by side. And now he was gone, died in battle with sea raiders seven winters back, his fire quenched for all time.

But as she stood and carried her sword to hang it at its place on the wall, with her back to Rey, as if she didn’t want to see her face when she said it, she added, “Ljúfvina thinks you would make a good healer. She is speaking today with Yade about taking you on as apprentice.”

Rey stood up. “Fakse, nei!” Yade was an old woman who lived in the woods, even farther from the heart of the village than they lived. Everyone went to her for healing and remedies, and everyone made sure she was safe and warm and fed, but no one ever went to her to keep company. No one ever chatted with her when she came to the river. No one invited her to break bread at their table. More than merely a healer, she was a völva — a witch, a prophetess — and they feared her. They thought her a necessary and powerful being, beyond concerns of good or evil, who helped them because they made her offerings.

Fakse, too, believed in Yade’s power, and now Rey wondered if Fakse felt fear, or awe, of her after all. Why else would she seek to doom her own sister to a life like that? 

The idea that she would be locked forever into the shackles of life as the village mystic made Rey feel sick at her stomach. “Please, Fakse. I cannot.”

She turned and faced Rey, then came back to the table and took Rey’s sword from her hands. “I will speak to the others on it tonight. For now, there is work to be done.”

~oOo~

That night, Rey lay in her narrow bed and listened to Fakse and the other captains argue. The animals just over the wall from where she lay stirred restlessly, unused to such harsh sounds. One of the young sheep bleated and snuck his snout between the slats of the wall. Rey scratched its velvety black. 

“Fakse, I will not! I will not lose another girl!”

“You would have her be a crone? You think you will not lose her that way? She wants this, Ljúfvina. She is the daughter of warriors. We should let her walk the path of her choosing. Let her be feared for the power she truly has, not over silly superstition.”

“And you are so sure it’s superstition?”

“Ljúfvina, nei. Do not. She is a girl. _Our_ girl. We would know by now if she were more than that.”

“Would we? She has only just come into her blood. What if more than her womanhood flowers now? Shouldn’t she be with someone who understands what that means? Who can help her use her power wisely? The God’s eye, Fakse. If they who say it are right…”

“It’s no god’s eye. It is _Rey’s_ eye. Our sister. Her eyes are only… colorful. They are beautiful.”

“Too beautiful for a human to bear. They hold all of sea and earth and sky. They hold Yggdrasil itself. The eye of the Allfather. You know the stories. You know what they say.”

“The stories also say Fakse Wildheart fought in Jötunheim and fed for a week on the heart of a giant. How did it taste, comrade?” 

Rey heard a sweetly mocking tone come into Fakse’s voice, a tone that was familiar. Normally, Ljúfvina would laugh and punch Fakse on the arm. 

Instead, Ljúfvina said, “This is serious, you jackal. I cannot. I cannot have her go off to die the way our husbands, fathers, brothers, sons and sisters died. I cannot.”

Ljúfvina was crying. When Rey heard the susurration of Fakse’s soothing their leader with whispers, she knew that she was delivered. Fakse had been a renowned warrior, a fearsome skjaldmeyjar, and she abhorred all dainty sentiments and living, and had hardened her mind and body with toil and endurance.

And she would not be apprenticed to Yade. That would not be her life, doomed so young to live in the woods forever. 

When her sisters finally slept, Rey left her bed. She picked up the sword and shield Fakse had been training her to use. 

She would prove herself to them someday, but she knew not how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Kings — the Vikings did not have a central government. Instead, each village or town had its own king or chief. The kings were at the top of the heap, the most powerful people in Viking society.
> 
> Jarls — the jarls were the upper echelon of the freemen, either noblemen or wealthy landowners, merchants or traders. Jarls would likely have many men under their employ, and often reward them with food and drink. Extremely noble or prestigious jarls would often liaise with the king, keeping him abreast of news and knowledge and of course contributing some of their earnings to the king. In Viking society progression was allowed, a karl could become a jarl should the Gods favor him.
> 
> Karls — the karls were the main population, the everyday man. Known as “freemen,” they were able to own land, build property and start a family or business. Most were farmers, sailors, blacksmiths or craftsmen, and knew how to work the land. Karls could own thralls to help out with daily chores and tasks.
> 
> Thralls — slaves were the lowest rung on the Viking social ladder. Thralls had little to no rights, couldn’t own land and performed the dirtiest tasks and chores. Yet mistreatment of a slave was looked down upon. Many were often sacrificed on the death of their master, to accompany him on his journey to Valhalla. The Arab diplomat, Ibn Fadlan, described in detail the ceremony of a Rus burial on the banks of the Volga in 922, which ended in the killing of a thrall who volunteered to join her late master on his funeral pyre. Thralls were acquired in a number of ways, captured in war or on a raid, through trade or barter, or through a crime and punishment. In addition, they were free to marry with any children becoming slaves. A thrall was able to earn wage selling crafts. They were allowed some free time, and could visit the market if they desired. Freedom was possible as they could buy their way out of thralldom. But even a freed slave wouldn’t be considered a freeman’s equal, and it could take generations before the thralls lineage would be able to own land themselves.
> 
> Women — within the male-dominated Viking society, women had a certain amount of personal power, depending on their social status. They had more power than most other European women of the time: they could divorce their husbands, own property, and sell their own handicrafts. Some became wealthy landowners; others participated in trade — scales for weighing silver used in trading have been found in women’s graves. Even weapons have been found in female burials, suggesting that some women fought alongside their men. A skjaldmeyjar (shieldmaiden) was a woman who had chosen the path of a warrior. These women would have been well trained and would have dedicated their entire life to warfare. Most women in Viking society, however, lived and worked in the domestic realm of the household. They cared for the family, prepared food, milked animals, preserved food for winter and, the most time-consuming task of all, made the family’s clothes. Spinning, carding and weaving took a long time. When men were away from home — raiding, fishing, exploring or on trading missions — women took over all the men’s work as well as doing their own. Women were valuable members of Viking society and it was shameful for a man to harm a woman. Viking women married as young as 12 years old. By the age of 20, virtually all men and women were married. Viking behavior was dictated by Norse law, including the behavior of women.
> 
> Children — the age of majority is not clearly defined, but by the time a boy was 16, he was expected to take on all the roles of an adult male in Viking society. Even younger children took on some adult responsibilities. Children were primarily raised by their mothers, although sometimes boys lived with a foster family for a period of time. This was meant to forge bonds and alliances between the two families and entitled the boy to learn the skills he would need to be successful. Particularly talented children might have been sent off to another household to better learn a specific skill, such as metallurgy. Even skills such as fighting were taught in an informal setting, with most children honing their skills by practicing with each other, and perhaps a nearby adult. Even after the conversion to Christianity, formal education was rare for Scandinavian children, as schools were few and far between. Instead, most children were educated within and around the home, by helping out with chores. Bold, independent behavior was prized in children, and they were expected to take charge of their own activities, remain honorable and work hard. Those who were deemed as lazy were mockingly called “charcoal chewers” — a term which referred to their staying at home by the cooking hearth while everyone else was hard at work in the fields.


	2. The Witch’s Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Viking Age saw the last stand of paganism in Scandinavia, where raiding and trading brought followers of a pantheistic religion into contact — and often conflict — with Christian and Muslim worshippers of a monotheistic God.
> 
> What we know of the gods and creation myths of the Vikings has been passed down by certain texts such as the _Poetic Edda_ (an unnamed collection of anonymous Old Norse poems), and _Heimskringla_ , by Snorri Sturluson, who was a Christian.
> 
> For the Vikings and their ancestors, the universe began with the two elements of heat and cold, with Ginnungagap in between, and life beginning where the two elements met; where the titan Ymir was formed.
> 
> Audhumla the cow suckled the young Ymir and licked the ice to create Buri, who went on to be the grandfather of Odin, Vili and Ve. These three then killed Ymir, whose body formed the earth and his skull the sky, while one of his eyebrows formed a wall to separate the world of the giants from Midgard, the world of men.
> 
> At the center of this universe was Yggdrasil, a gigantic ash tree with three roots: one in Asgard — the land of the gods (the Aesir); one in Jötunheim — the land of the frost giants; and the other in Niflheim — the world of the dead. Near these roots were three wells: Hvergelmir, in which Nidhogg lived (the serpent that gnawed at the tree’s roots); Mímisbrunnr, the source of wisdom (Odin sacrificed an eye for its waters); and Urdarbrunnr, the Well of Fate, from which the tree is watered by the three Norns (the Fates) — Urd, Verdandi and Skuld. 
> 
> The tree united the nine Norse homeworlds and was populated by various animals, including an eagle in its topmost branches that had a falcon sitting between its eyes and traded insults with Nidhogg, via Ratatoskr, a squirrel who scurried between the two. 
> 
> The leader of the gods was Odin, who married the goddess Frigg. Below them were lesser deities such as Thor (god of thunder), Tyr (god of war), Loki (god of fire), Frey and Freya (gods of fertility), Aegir and Njord (gods of the sea), Bragi (god of poetry), Ull (god of archery) and Hel (goddess of the underworld). 
> 
> Different gods seem to have held sway in different parts of Scandinavia. For instance, Odin was paramount in Sweden and Denmark; Thor was widely worshipped in all three countries apart from the area around Trondheim in Norway; Tyr was popular just in Denmark, and Frey in Sweden. 
> 
> One of the most important centers of Scandinavian paganism was the temple at Uppsala in Sweden, just north of modern Stockholm, which is surrounded by the burial mounds of ancient kings who were interred with their horses, dogs, servants and weapons. 
> 
> Adam of Bremen also spoke of three images in the temple, of Thor, Odin and Frey, who would be sacrificed to, respectively, in times of blight and disease, war, and at weddings. Thor was the god of strength and wielded the hammer, Mjollnir. Odin, being the god of battle, alone could give victory or defeat. Frey’s image had an over-sized penis as he was the god of fertility. Odin’s servants were the Valkyrie (directors of human fate), female entities who conducted those warriors slain in battle to Valhalla to feast in Odin’s great hall until Ragnarök. 
> 
> Three major religious festivals were held each year, one at the beginning of summer, one in autumn and one at midwinter. The summer feast was closely associated with bringing good fortune and victory for the coming raiding season, and sacrifices for victory were duly made.

__

__

_Meanwhile, in Danmǫrk, the throne seat in the Viking kingdom of Skywalker..._

__

__

__

Bengeirr sat at the goatskin rug before the fire, his arms clasped about his knees and his gaze on the flames. It was said that some had the skill to read the future there. Just then he would have given much for just a glimpse to help resolve the chaos of his thoughts. The present dilemma was desperate, but what to do for the best?

He glanced once at the Queen, grateful for that comforting presence. To Bengeirr, she was both mother and confidante. In the first flush of youth, many had sought her hand, but it went the same way for all of them: killed, and their heads tied to the stockade. She was hailed as Leidvar the Haughty, Leidvar the Beautiful, and Leidvar the Vengeful, and the court started to think this was a serious problem. She hadn’t heeded them much, though a young woman alone was vulnerable. A young woman with wealth and land was doubly so once it became known she had no protector. It was not unknown for such to be married under duress to an ambitious and ruthless sea-king with a strong retinue and no aversion to the use of force. Better to wed a respected man who would treat her well and restore the land to its former self. It had come to her that she must wed and soon. In short, it was wise to have care around her; unless they possessed the strength, like that of Jóhannes the Sea-Rider, to scare the wandering cocks away whilst brandishing a sword, or they might not have survived the night. At almost forty, she was comely still, a slight elegant figure, for all that there were the barest of lines on her face and one or two gray strands in her dark hair. Her brown eyes saw more than other people, for she was known to have the second sight, to see things hidden from ordinary mortal view. Her skill lay with the runes, not the fire, but the accuracy of her words was sufficient for people to regard her with awe, even fear. Bengeirr had never been afraid, only curious. Leidvar’s mother was one of Rolf the Old’s daughters, Oddveig the Hugr-Heavy, who became first king of the Danes, who married a Yngling thrall. From him she had inherited the gift of the sight and a wealth of stories besides.

When Bengeirr was a child, she had entertained him with tales of the Norse gods: of Thor, who wielded the thunderbolts; of Loki the trickster of Odin; and Fenrir the wolf. Bengeirr had listened, enthralled by stories of Jötunheim, the realm of the frost giants, and of the dragon, Nidhoggr, who constantly gnawed at the roots of Yggdrasil, the mighty ash tree connecting earth and heaven. She had taught him seiðr, too, albeit in secret, for she knew the King would not approve. When they were alone, the two of them spoke their secret language and knew their words would be safe from other ears. She alone knew the secrets of Bengeirr’s heart and it was to her Bengeirr turned in times of trouble. 

The young boy sighed and, turning his gaze from the glowing flames in the hǫrgr, looked full at his mother.

“It is written in the heavens... that a life shall be mirrored in its birth. Like a reflection in water... fleeting but true. And so it shall be for you, my Bengeirr... son of Jóhannes, the one and only true heir... to the Kingdom of Skywalker, a kingdom under attack.”

She did not say a _woman’s_ reflection, but Bengeirr heard the thought. He also acknowledged the truth of it. The King, concerned only with skill at arms and with hawking and hunting, had taken little interest in the running of his possessed half of the court as was the custom in those days of great kings, preferring to leave it to his wife. A good man at heart, the King had performed his duties well enough under Jarl Baldur’s — who’d brought the Queen up as his foster-daughter — exacting rule, but after, with no master’s eye on him, he began to neglect small things, putting off until the morrow what should have been done today. The army under his control took their example from him, and the Queen, on her daily rides, had begun to notice the results. In Oddveig’s time, the Queen held no less splendid a court than pertained to the King, and vied they one with the other as to which might procure men of prowess, each having it at heart to possess such men for themselves. 

“What do the runes say, Mother?”

Bengeirr already knew what they would say, but he needed to have it confirmed. The runes never lied. Carved out of ash, a tree sacred to Odin, and indelibly marked with ancient esoteric symbols, they would point the way as they had done before. The Queen regarded him with a steady gaze.

“Ask your question.”

Bengeirr drew in a deep breath. “Shall I go down basely in loneliness to the goddess of Helheim?”

He waited, hands locked together, as the Queen scanned the rune cast. The silence lengthened and her brown eyes narrowed, a sharp line creasing her brow. 

“Well? Shall I marry and lift the darkness from the land?”

“Ja, I have at last seen the rise of a new king of Skywalkerland and she will stand at your side as a seer, healer and advisor. Her irises are brown green, almost gold, and though her hair is that curious color of sun and fire, her eyes are fringed by midnight-black lashes. Eyes both startling and beautiful. She is the lightning that tears across the sky before the rain begins.”

“A seer?” Bengeirr was puzzled. “Who?”

“I do not know the woman.”

“What does she look like?”

“I cannot tell. The upper part of her face is hidden behind the plates of her helmet. She wears a shirt of fine mail and in her hand carries a mighty sword, as sharp as a dragon’s tooth.”

“A warrior’s maid, no less. One of Odin’s daughters, perhaps. Shall I meet her soon?”

“You will see her soon enough.”

Thereafter she became strangely reticent and all of Bengeirr’s questions could draw nothing from her.

The mystery stayed with her, as the days passed, he knew he could not wait indefinitely for some stranger to swifan in and rescue him from all his problems.

~oOo~

Kylo the Wren placed his hand on his belly, stuffed from the feast, to celebrate yet another victory. Around the high table, warriors juggled women and drink. Some of his men rutted in the darkened corners of the hall. _Yecch!_ It made him want to spew thinking about it, and it made him reach for his ale and chug it out of the gauntlet. He did not indulge, nor was he ever tempted to. Their pleasures were shallow… Their sorrows deep. His abstinence, especially prior to battle, was essential. A warrior’s mind must be unblurred. Alas, ja, as much as he could have a warm body underneath his, he truly wanted something more.

He didn’t know what that something was, but he knew that he wanted it. And when he wanted something, by Thor, he got it!

Everyone respected the Skywalker name and their clan, but Kylo seemed to be different. People took one look at him and feared him. They ran inside with their children. They deserted him when they took one glance at his face. They knew they were warriors — the Danes. He had earned every mark, scar, burn, and bead. He was not ashamed of who he was, but there was a part of him — a small part — that wished that the monster in him did not reflect on his face. 

The scar on his face was what people stared at. It was brutal, but so was the battle. He had cut Snærr’s throat when at the last second, his blade slipped, caught his jaw. It wasn’t a pretty scar; it was slightly pink with rough edges. He tried and hid it with what was left of his hair after he shorn the sides to show his tattoos, but it only made him seem more brooding.

He’d fallen into the persona of a deadly, vicious warrior pretty easily, but it left a lonely life to be lived. Ja, there was the unmistakable urge to merge with his intended. A love to restore hope and light to his ugliness. She would bear him fine sons who would inherit this land after him as it was written in the runes. It would be known that the Skywalkers were here to stay. What he didn’t want was to breach her on the night he claimed her — there on the dragon prow against the mast where the other warrior’s also slept. Within hearing and sight of all. The Viking grunting mixed with the slap of the oars and the creak of the timbers. 

Not so sweet, really.

Seeing his father with his lovely mother made him realize he needed more in life. The emptiness in his chest wasn’t getting smaller. The more he saw Father with the love of his life, the more he wanted what they had, but he did not know of a woman that would want to spend the rest of her life with a man like him. He reeked of death and they would rather die than have the stench of it touch them.

Word around the palace was that he was a fuðflogi and would not take a woman to his bed because his heart was as cold as the steel he wielded in battle. It was why his father urged him to take a wife and settle matters once and for all. Kylo knew that the King would have dismissed the magic of the runes. For the gods would do nothing for man that they would not do for themselves. After all, he was nine and twenty and should have taken a bride long since. Kylo would have if he’d ever found one he wanted. It had seemed a hopeless quest. The situation had changed for the King. Besides, he could think of many a worse fate to befall a man. Recalling the kiss he had stolen from the Queen years earlier, he’d grin. If looks could kill, he knew he’d be a dead man now. Too bad — the King was determined that kiss would be the first of many. Oh, how she fought him tooth and nail; it had availed her naught. She yielded in the end. He stripped away her defenses as he stripped away her clothes. Then he’d jolt back to the present, focusing on the women next to him. The Queen could see lust returning to his eyes and saw his cock twitching as it began to fill.

His kinfolk were a bit much. It explained a lot about Kylo.

The Queen once told him that his uncle, Leidolf, was born to be a farmer, not a warrior, and that he secretly hated the spilling of blood. But the gods had blessed him with a strength and ferocity that drew others to his side and encouraged the kings of far-away countries to seek him out as a folk-leader. The Vikings who continued to harry the Danish coastline called him the Spawn of the Wolf, or sometimes Lord of Thunder, for where he battled, steel clashed and the ground trembled. 

_The ground will tremble!_ he’d silently swear. His hatred for the North had been innate, he was certain. And he was fated to battle them till the Ragnarök. When Kylo was in his ninth year, he sailed to the Færeys. There was a man named Lukas, tarnished, silvery-eyed and a bishop, he went to the bird island from the west and settled land between Skúvoy and Sandvík, and dwelt at Tórshavn. He had ill-dealings with his folk. They took a dislike to his methods which were... some would say, Christian, in nature. From Aki Skýganger, the Wolf of the Waves, was he descended. Had Kylo stayed with his uncle, he would’ve put him to the books, and admitted him to Holy Orders, and he would be ordained priest. But when he reached a ripe age he did not shape himself to the priesthood, and was rather unruly. He had a quarrel with another boy, who was the son of the King’s ármaðr in the islands. Kylo had struck a man, and the ármaðr, with a large company, went to seize him, but he escaped. Yet they pressed him so closely that he ran into a stove-room to conceal himself. A woman hid him in the oven, and set a flat stone before the oven’s mouth; then she lighted a fire outside. His pursuers sought him in the room, but did not find him. And afterwards, when people saw what he became, they thought there had been many signs pointing to supernatural power in him.

“I thought you’d be happier.” Poe, his friend and closest ally, wisest advisor and best and bravest of brave brawlers, said as he pulled out a chair next to him to sit. He lifted his feet onto the long table, crossing them at his ankles. Poe plucked a piece of meat off the platter in front of Kylo and popped it into his mouth, licking his fingers.

“I’m happy,” Kylo grunted, tossing his cup to the side when he realized there was no more ale in it.

Poe chuckled, picking another chunk of meat off the bones of the deer. “Right. That’s why you’re sitting over here with a scowl on your face like you’re about to kill a man.”

“I don’t scowl.”

Poe lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“I’m not scowling!” Kylo barked, slamming his fists against the table. The force caused a few cups to topple over and spill. Shame.

“Why are you wound so tight, My Lofðungr? We had a great victory. We saved a lot of women and children today. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Kylo pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get rid of the ache between his eyes. “Ja, it is.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“Just tired. Apologies for snapping. It’s been a long day.”

“Ja, it has. Have another ale and relax.” Poe stood up, stomping over yonder to grab another gauntlet of ale for Kylo. He handed it over, foam sloshing over his hand.

“You take it, Brother. I’m going to bed.” Kylo pushed away from the table, his fingers sliding through spilled ale. 

Poe grabbed his wrist as he headed to his sleeping quarters. Suddenly, he leaned forward, his ale-battered breath infiltrating Kylo’s personal space. “Are you alright? You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ben—”

“I said I was fine, Poe. Let it go.” He yanked his wrist from Poe’s grasp and turned to walk away. He took a few steps and stopped. Poe had been his constant from day one. No one else had stood at his side like he had. He deserved better. “I truly apologize, Poe. When I’m ready to talk about it, you’ll be the first to know.” 

Poe gave him a worried stare before nodding and brought the ale to his lips. “Fair enough.” Poe hurried back to the feast, throwing his arm around his wife, Apailana, and stealing a kiss. 

Kylo disappeared into the darkness, his feet carrying him past the palisade and to the cliffs. The sounds of the gathering became more and more muted the farther away he got. A sigh escaped his lips when he was finally alone, without a single soul around. He turned around to see the glow of the large fire burning bright and licking the sky like it was going mad. He was glad his people were having a good time, but after today he wasn’t up for it.

He climbed down the cliff, placing his foot on the sharp edges of the rocks. The only things keeping him from falling were hope and his own strength. It should scare him. He could fall to his death right now, but then again, death was a known friend. It wasn’t something he shied away from. He believed that if he truly wished to live, he must always push the bonds of life, which included conquering death. 

His callused fingers gripped the rough rocks. His muscles burned with every move he made. They were sore and tired from the battle today, not to mention still drenched in his enemy’s blood. _Today is the day I will always mark as my greatest victory of all time._

In the east, there was word of a village being run by foul men. Apparently, they abused women and children, raping the women and making the children work to their deaths — his men. They were Danes, the most ruthless of men, but one thing he would not have in his mother’s country were men who abused women like that. Despite her courage and sword-skill, his mother and her brother were taken down, and Leidolf watched how his sister was humiliated into submission. She committed a terrible revenge, tricking the Hut king, Ubba, into eating the hearts of his two sons by her, spellbound the entire hall and burned it down and struck her sword into Ubba’s heart. When they came to rule, they changed the way their people thought. His parents changed their beliefs on how they needed to live, and now their goal was to save all the women and children under imminent threat. They could either stay at the village with them, or they could try to strike out on their own. They gave the choice to them. 

They usually always came home with the warriors. They offered protection, which was something very valuable today.

There was one woman he couldn’t save today, though, and her face haunted him. His foot slipped from the lack of concentration, and he dangled off the cliff, holding on by one hand. His bicep screamed at him, trembling with every second that passed. He let out a guttural shout, throwing his body against the rocks, and this time, he remembered what the Hel he was doing. 

When he got twenty feet from the ground, he jumped, landing hard on the sand. He whipped his hair back, getting it out of his face, as he looked toward the healing pools. Not many people came down here because of the threat of the cliffs, and because it took so much longer to get straight through the woods. So it became his getaway — something he wished he could share with someone. 

Dark clouds overtook the sky as thunder and lightning danced above him. The ocean slammed against the rocks, spraying his skin with cold saltwater. He closed his eyes, spreading his arms to let nature have its way with him. The memory of the woman flashed in his mind as the sea angrily pounded against the rock below him. He saw her face. Her dark hair. Her tears. The fear on her face. The blood.

Ja, so much blood. He gasped when a big gust of wind nearly blew him over the edge, making him snap his eyes open just in time to stop himself from falling over. The gods were waking him up and telling him to get his shit together. He wiped his face, removing the salt from his eyes and giving the sea one last appreciative look before he turned on his heels and walked toward the one place that brought him the most peace — the one place that brought him peace at all, honestly.

He was a warrior through and through, as was his father, and as was his grandfather and uncle and mother. It was in his blood, deep in his veins. It was his soul. It was who he was, but he wanted to be different than they were. He wanted to be better, but just as fierce, something that came with a toll of sacrifice and death. 

Ten years after waging a bloody campaign to gain control over his own province, the powerful warlord had seized much of Danmark, including the capital. Now, driven by a towering ambition, his goal was to rule the North, South, East, and West. He dreamed of crushing the powerful clans who still opposed his rule. And for the first time ever, uniting all of Danmark under one banner.

There was just one thing that stood in their way of that goal. 

King Svein Snake-in-the-Eye. Svein the Evil. Svein the Treacherous. He had ruled the North before he was justly cut down by his grandfather, Aki the Skywalker, and had a large army — bigger than theirs — and his men were more blood hungry than theirs, with word of the wilds of Norseland terrors traveling far and wide. Some had said their old foe was helped by secret, Snærr, his sorcerer, but those voices were quickly silenced. At the same time, King Svein’s kinsmen could not endure that Skywalker rule over them, and had declared war against all the subjects of Aki. King Hannes, when he heard of these rumors, feeling his age upon him, and itching to swing his sword one last time, commissioned his most active men to suppress the rising. The Queen would hold rule and dominion over his half of the realm, maintaining it at her own charge, and for this purpose levied she her taxes and dues, in amount as much as she stood in need therefore. In matters of combat and war, however, she assigned Kylo for the task of leading her warriors. If he could do that, he’d be the most powerful warlord that had ever lived, and he would have been the only Lofðungr to have ever made allies with the lords of the north.

Mist rose up ahead and pulled him from his plans. After walking about a mile, he finally came upon the iskilde, a cold spring. The rich mineral water would feel so good against his tired body. He shucked his furs off, laying them on the ground alongside his breeches. He groaned, as the cut on his side stung as he bent over. He held his hand to it when the cut opened, and blood started trickling out. “By Loki,” he grunted.

His mother could make a paste that would stop the bleeding and make the scar soften and dispatch. After all this time, he was used to getting hurt in battle. He had the scars on his body to prove it. And the beads strung through his hair signified each of those victories. He was proud of his strength, but damn it, there were some days where he hurt so deeply, he could barely roll out of bed. 

Once he stripped the last piece of clothing, he sank into the luminous pit of cool fresh water. 

“Loki!” He tilted his head back and groaned to the sky. He dipped his head under and scrubbed his face, trying to get the grime off. He whipped his hair back, pushing the long, shoulder-lengthened hair out of his face.

His muscles relaxed, and his head started to clear from the fog that invaded it earlier at the feast. Using the ledge of the iskilde, he supported his head as he gazed into the darkened sky and spread his arms along the mossy ground. Lightning veined over the trees, and the light hiss of rain started to fall, pelting against the leaves. 

He loved it when it was like this. He loved being in the type of weather that matched how he felt. It was like being caught up in his own storm. It’d been a heavy few months. Winter took much of their meat by killing their animals, and many of the elders passed, taking their knowledge with them. The battles, while brutal, had been successful, but he needed more.

The clouds swirled above him, and the wind whipped his hair over his shoulders, stinging his flesh, and that’s when he remembered…

It was said King Svein had a granddaughter — a princess. Horseshit. Svein was cursed with a hole in his cock that had left him scarred; Snærr’s potions hadn’t worked, and it drove the King mad. No one knew of his shame or, at least, no one dared to talk of it. They said she was a seer, but she had no runes. Unless she hid them up her brown eye. And the last he heard from the Siþlings, a rogue group of the exiled from the other kingdoms, she was beautiful. The kind of beauty a man could only hope to lay eyes on once in their lifetime. The stories said she had long, brown hair, and eyes mossy green mixed with brown they were, the peaty hue of the pools in her own land. Not one color but a mix of them — a mystery just like the woman herself. Eyes so green, they could seduce a man into a begging fool for just one kiss.

But no man had ever received one.

There was one Siþling, a man who came from Svein’s kingdom, who said that she was a skilled skjaldmeyjar, who, though a maiden, had the courage of a man, and fought in front among the bravest with the startling crowning glory of her shimmering hair loose over her shoulders. All marveled at her matchless deeds. A woman with a mouth that made even the weakest man’s blood boil. 

He loved a mouth like that. He wanted a woman who challenged him, who maddened him, who tested him. He didn’t want a woman who submitted to his every word.

She sounded perfect to rule by his side. A woman like that didn’t belong in a cage or hidden away from the world because she was stronger than the men who barricaded her. Maybe not by strength, but by a lash of the tongue. A woman of that caliber deserved to be set free, because it would only be a matter of time before her spirit became too much for those weak men to take, including her father or brothers.

“O, Princess. How could I have forgotten about you?” The perfect leverage against Snærr. A smirk played on his lips as his plan unraveled itself. It was simple. _She will give me her hand in marriage and we will rule together._ And she would know she didn’t have a chance against the Danes — against a warlord prince. 

If the rumors were true, she would not be happy once she found out she was to be betrothed to a savage. She would fight him every step of the way, trying to piss him off, but the only thing it would enrage was his cock. Thinking about the feisty woman had his blood flowing south, filling his shaft to half-mast.

He didn’t touch it, because he didn’t want to get off on a fantasy that wasn’t real or set himself up for disappointment. He wanted to be able to see her first, to see just how unruly she really was. First things first, he wanted to ask around about her. Maybe Poe would know more about her than the rumors that had spread across the lands. 

Smirking, he leaned back, closing his eyes and letting the crisp spring heal his body because it had already done wonders for his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Völva — (VUHL-va) “staff carrier” or “wand–wed,” a seer or mystic. When they were fully in their power, these women traveled around in groups of nine or thirteen with their wands and staffs. Even later when things began to change and many of them traveled alone, the carrying of the stick made others aware of her status and offered protection from the normal dangers to women unaccompanied by men. The völur lived outside of the hierarchical structures of the culture and held a place higher than any seated official. They were fed and cared for in exchange for their work. In ceremonies called “seidrs,” the younger women sang to invoke the spirits after which the experienced völva would listen and begin to divine. The staff represented the _öorlog_ (primal law) and _wyrd_ (fate), the history, traditions, healing, songs, stories, dances and rituals of Scandinavian (Nordic) culture.
> 
> Lofðungr — (LOFTH-unger) king, prince, ruler.
> 
> Eth — (/ɛð/, uppercase: Ð, lowercase: ð; also spelled edh or eð) is a letter used in Old English, Middle English, Icelandic, Faroese (in which it is called edd), and Elfdalian. It was also used in Scandinavia during the Middle Ages but was subsequently replaced with dh and later d. It is often transliterated as d.  
> Other letters commonly used with: th, dh.
> 
> Ármaðr — royal steward (bailiff on a royal property); of a bailiff on a large farm); of an official agent/representative of a king or bishop/provost); of an official of high standing); of a tutelary being).
> 
> Siþling — (SITH-ling) meaning “time-traveler.” It was believed they dealt in sorcery.
> 
> Thorn or þorn (Þ, þ) — (not p) is a letter in the Old English, Gothic, Old Norse, Old Swedish, and modern Icelandic alphabets, as well as some dialects of Middle English. It was also used in medieval Scandinavia, but was later replaced with the digraph “th” (as in “ _th_ ick”), except in Iceland, where it survives. The letter originated from the rune ᚦ in the Elder Fuþark and was called thorn in the Anglo-Saxon and thorn or thurs in the Scandinavian rune poems.
> 
> Færeys — Faroe Islands.
> 
> Fuðflogi — a man who shunned marriage (a man who flees the female sex organ) while a woman who tried to avoid marriage was _flannfluga_ (she who flees the male sex organ).


	3. The Prophecy

_It is fortunate to be favored with praise and popularity. It is dire luck to be dependent on the feelings of your fellow man._

~ The Hávamál, Book of Viking Wisdom

“You dare try to spy on my people?” Kylo asked the intruder on his hands and knees before him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have my second kill you.” The words seeped out through his clenched teeth, spraying spit and anger at the man. He had never seen him before in his life. He was but a boy trying to be a man. He had no hair on his face, and his skin showed no scars from war. Just who the Hel did he think he was?

His entire body quaked with fear as he looked into Kylo’s eyes. Kylo knew what he saw. He saw the promise of death. “Please, my lord.” The young brown-headed man begged, his innocent dark eyes welling with tears as he met Kylo’s eyes. The boy may be a fool, but to look Kylo in the eye… Well, that didn’t make him a coward.

Kylo took a step closer and put his sword under his chin. “I am not your lord. Let me make that perfectly clear.”

“Come on, Kylo. Let’s get rid of him. We still have people to settle in the village.”

Ignoring the words of his second, he pressed his sword against the young man’s chin again, making him look up at Kylo with wet lashes. “One more chance.”

“I used to be a Siþling. I swear it, I mean no harm. I was traveling alone. I was hoping to speak to you. I want a home.”

Kylo snorted, not believing a word of it. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” The boy lowered the collar of his shirt and revealed the brand of the Siþ. It was old, but the skin was still puckered, forever burned from the hot iron metal searing a ‘S’ rune into his skin.

“That means nothing. He can be a spy sent from them.”

“Why would he be a spy for them? Siþlings are on our side,” Kylo asked with curiosity. The Siþlings had been their allies from the very beginning. Turning against them would not be wise.

The boy shook his head. “Some of the Siþlings are branching off and creating their own force. They are the ones against you. The ones that once served King Svein. The people that refused to be part of their plan, they killed. Some of us escaped, and I swear, I didn’t know my journey would lead me here. I’ll tell you anything I know.”

Kylo grabbed the boy by the hair, yanking his head back, and putting the thick, sharp edge of his blade against his throat. “What in Helheim are you talking about? The Siþlings are no longer?”

Kylo was still not worried about the threat of the Siþlings, or what they used to be. They would never be as smart and strong as his people. 

“Nei. Only a few of us remain.”

“Hmmm,” Kylo said. He contemplated what to do with the information the boy just told him. He had no use for him, but he was nothing but a boy. To kill such a young man was a crime in and of itself. He was just trying to find his way, but Kylo could not show weakness in front of his people.

He lifted the sword, preparing to give the boy a quick death when he held out his hands and begged for his life. “Wait, wait, wait. I have information on the girl!” he shouted, tears rolling down his face.

Kylo squinted his eyes at him and tilted his head. He looked around to see if anyone else looked around him with confusion. He hadn’t had a chance to tell his men about his plan yet, and the fact that this boy knew something let him know he had a traitor in his midst. 

“What is your name, boy?” he asked, sheathing his sword in his belt. 

“Abram, my…” He licked his lips, catching himself. “I mean, Warlord Wren.”

“How old are you?”

“What is the meaning of this, Kylo?” Poe challenged him. “Kill him.”

“He may be useful. Do not test me, Poe. Age, what is it?” He brought his focus back to the boy.

“I’ve just reached my sixteenth winter, sir,” he said nervously. 

“Sixteen? You’re nothing but a pup,” Kylo commented, running his fingers over the scruff of his chin. “By the time I was your age, I’d conquered all of this land. I was twelve summers old when I first went to war.”

“I am no pup!” he spat, and his eyes enlarged to the point where Kylo could see all of the white.

Kylo laughed. It was deep and carried all over the land. His men followed suit and laughed with him. 

“Ja, you aren’t anything but a wee one. Tell me, how does a young fífl as yourself know anything about the girl?”

“The Siþlings found out you are interested in the Golden Maiden, the late King of the North’s supposed granddaughter.” The little shit outed him in front of everyone, but Kylo kept his temper. He didn’t want to give anything away.

“What of her?”

“She is without a man, but the Siþlings have threatened to take her. A move to prove they are more powerful than you.” 

“No one is more powerful than Kylo. Everyone knows this,” Poe said.

“Take the boy to jail and leave him there. He is of use to us.” Kylo spun on his heels, his long fur cloak fanning out as he strode toward his chamber. He did not want anyone to see his weakness right now. He pushed too many buttons. He knew too many things of the truth to be called a liar. 

Kylo stomped the stairs of his chamber and slammed the door behind him. He should’ve been more careful. The wood was old and not in the best condition, but it was home. The jumble that was his quarters met his gaze — weapons, discarded and filthy clothing, and other unnamed detritus sprawled everywhere, along with a puddle of spilled ale. The hearth had not seen fire in days, and despite the season, the interior of the wing felt dark, colder than outside.

The door opened and closed again, and by the sound of the harsh breathing, it was Poe. “What?” he asked. He turned around and took off his belt and cloak, letting the cold air wrap around his bare torso. 

“What was that boy talking about? Was he right? Do you have plans to wed the Golden Maiden? How the fuck will you manage that, Kylo?” Poe’s jaw clenched, causing the muscle to tick. His eyes spewed fire as he stared at Kylo. Whose scar on his face pulsed with anger as did the shaved sides of his head that showed the tribal signs of his people. Poe was Kylo’s fiercest, most loyal friend and warrior, and he owed him the truth.

“Ja, he is right. I don’t know how he knows that. I haven’t told anyone. I’ve been waiting. I want us to become allies with King Ozur.”

“And you want to do that by wedding his best warrior and kingmaker? What makes you think he would hand her over? Without her guiding light, her strength and vision, he is lost. Wide is the sway that he holds; mightily waxed by victories from the might of one woman.” Poe lifted his brow at him.

“I shall threaten him. Either give me the girl or have a war on his hands. A war he knows he cannot win. Our union will set the seal of ownership on these lands and these people. Whether they like it or not, the Danes are here to stay.” Kylo walked around Poe and headed back outside.

The night was beautiful, and the women were watching their children play, safely in the village. Kylo placed his hands on his hips and watched everything around him. After growing up in his parent’s long shadow for years, expectations for the young ruler were crushing. Many did not think he was strong enough to serve in such an important and sacred role. Perhaps he was not going to be able to follow his grandfather, who was a great warrior and died for Skywalkerland. It was as if they had forgotten that he was raised a Dane warrior and would do whatever was necessary to see his clan survive. And, though it was not his desire, tradition also saw the heirless blood prince ascend the vacant throne, but never without a fight. But he did not know what he would do if such things came to pass. 

Regardless of what storms were on the horizon for Skywalkerland, he only wished for strength and vitality of his clan. Whatever it took for those things to remain, he would do. He would see Skywalkerland survive generation after generation. He would see the strength of the clan echo throughout the halls of Valhalla, so even the gods themselves would take notice. All these people, they looked up to him to protect them. They counted on him to give them what they needed, and the women and children needed a Princess. He needed someone by his side, someone strong. 

And King Ozur’s sword seemed to be very strong-willed. Something that got him harder than a bolder.

“And what if you don’t even like her. You have never seen her,” Poe said, standing next to him with his arms crossed and a stubborn look etched on his face. Poe was a brutal man. Had been since they were wee ones. Kylo had always given people chances if they deserved it, but not Poe.

He had it harder than most of them, including Kylo. He was the type to take in strays like his father. People liked to keep themselves pure of Han’s dirty blood, and that’s exactly what they thought Kylo was and what Poe was. Poe wasn’t a Vikingr, at least not by blood, but he was by heart. When he was a boy, Kylo’d met him on the south of the cliffs, and they would play for hours with sticks as swords. Poe told him his parents had died in a shipwreck and it was just him. He had run from the Abbasid Caliphate, not wanting to become one of their slaves, when Kylo ran across him by the only cave near the village. His father took him in. Before Poe had lived in the caves a majority of his life. 

All because of his dirty blood. 

The words to this day made Kylo’s lips curl with anger, and if he could, he’d kill them all over again. 

The Crown Prince had been living in semi-exile for several years after the falling out with his mother’s court. Once his master died, and Kylo earned his place as Warlord, he had Poe take a blood oath. They cut their palms and dripped their blood into each other’s wounds, binding them as brothers. Now, Poe was his second, the best warrior he’d known, but because of his life before this one, that is what made him a force to be reckoned with.

“O, but I have. Gods, I thought I… what was that?”

“Tell me everything.” 

Kylo’d returned to camp after his waking dreams and brought his bundle of gathered herbs and mosses to Poe, a raider whose mother, like Kylo’s, had been a healer, and who tended to their wounded.

“I… I was on a mountain in a violent blizzard, climbing toward the summit, following a wolf.”

“Hm mm.”

“I saw Odin. And the Nornir, spinning their threads of fate. They showed me the road ahead. My life. My path. What lies before me, and where it ends. And the wolf was eager for my attention. As if it were beckoning me to follow.”

“You are the grandson of the Wolf, fated to carry his mark for life. In this case, it might represent your ambition… or your fear.”

“I saw the gates to Odin’s hall of slain champions. They opened for me.”

“Shades of Valhalla. For which you are destined.”

“I do not know what else to say. My memories are faint, hazy.”

“Did you reach the summit of this mountain?”

“I did, ja. The sun was there. A beautiful woman, the bright bride. She was given to me. Then the wolf reappeared, the size of a dragon, twisted and terrible. It fixed its eyes on me and struck! Then I woke. You understand, Poe... The gods favor me. They always have. I will have my glory, and I will earn my place in Valhalla. But these portens carry a darker truth. The beautiful bride, the trail of blood, the beast. A new order will be forged. Odin, the High One, has sent me this vision. He has commanded me to take the North. I have no choice but to obey his wish. In my vision, you, too, were by my side, lord. Devoted hersir, my loyal servant, commander of my fearsome army, and utterly committed to our destiny.”

“I am all those things.”

“I have your support in this endeavor?”

“Ja.”

“I want you and I to go there, but I want to stake out the land. I want to see her again, but from what I heard of late, her beauty is something the goddesses would envy. She is a seer like my mother,” Kylo said. A child ran by, giggling and lifting his hands to him, opening and closing his palms, signaling him to pick him up.

“Poe? What does it want?”

“I think _he_ wants to play.”

Kylo grunted, bent over and tossed him in the air. “Again!” the small boy giggled.

Kylo didn’t listen to the orders of others much, but when it was such a strong Dane child, he listened. “Ja!” He chuckled, throwing him in the air even higher and catching him in his hands.

“Ragnar! Warlord Wren, I apologize. He just bolted when he saw you.” Yrsa, one of the women they saved from the last battle, clutched her dress in her hands as she ran. Her breasts bounced, and Poe cursed from the sight. She was beautiful and striking, with siren’s silver-blue eyes, long fiery hair and big breasts. But she was too fawning and loved to agree with what everyone said, and Kylo had never wanted that in a woman.

“It is fine, Yrsa. I don’t mind the young one.” Kylo turned him over on his stomach, grabbed him by the shirt on his back, and spun him in circles. “Down you go,” he said and sat him on his feet. He ran back to his mother and jumped in his arms.

“I’m cooking tonight. It’s just a bit of oatmeal with leeks, kale and herring. You and Lord Poe are more than welcome to come over,” she told them as she bounced Ragnar on her hip.

Kylo saw the knowing gleam in her eye. She wanted more than dinner. The way she looked Poe and Kylo up and down gave away her plan. He shoved Poe back. “I’m afraid I have plans tonight, and Poe—”

“My lovely Apailana is expecting me.”

She frowned. “Pity.”

“Bye, Yrsa!” Poe winced from her retreating form, screwing his face up into one of disgust as her ass swayed.

“You sail with me in a week. We are going North. Enjoy Apailana while there’s time. ‘Twill be your last for a while,” Kylo told him.

“Ja, well, it’s high time you took a wife. A man must get sons. The clan is restless. They can feel a storm brewing on the horizon.”

All-out war was coming — his mother predicted as much — whether from within or without, they didn’t yet know. The Warlord being heirless only exasperated the feeling of unease. If Kylo died without a successor, the strongest of those who remained would take over. A civil war would no doubt follow. Skywalkerland would weaken, distracted by infighting and vulnerable to invaders. If things worsened further, the clan could splinter, collapsing from within. The Queen prophesied that unseen enemies threatened Skywalker, and that the clan was more vulnerable than it had been in years.

“And when I finally seize her we shall wed and pup sons aplenty.”

“Your standards have always been high—”

“As have yours.”

“—but even you might lose your heart to this Norse beauty.”

“I have never lost my heart to a woman yet. I’ve raised a Nidstang to block their powers.”

“You say so for you have never been in love.”

“It is not necessary to fall in love to get sons,” Kylo chuckled. “My heart has always been my own, brother, and I’ve guarded it well.”

Poe waved him off as he strolled away, meeting Apailana waiting for him in their doorway. She hit him, the crack ringing loud. There was a sharp intake of breath from others nearby and heads turned to watch with keen interest. Not a man there expected to see the mutinous wife laid at Poe’s feet with one blow of his fist. To their surprise he merely grinned. Apailana launched a second blow, but Poe caught her wrist and held it. Then their lips crashed in a kiss that left them both breathless. When he released her, the warmth of his mouth lingered on her lips. She giggled as Poe chased her inside. Kylo’s brows raised. He guessed Poe wanted dessert before dinner. 

“Warlord Wren!” came a voice in the crowd.

He nodded his head to a few people as they passed before going back inside his home. He cracked his knuckles and sat on the floor in front of the fire roaring, heating his skin until he sweated. It would be a long journey in the coming week, one that was long and unforgiving. But his gut was telling him it would be worth it, and he was never one to ignore his gut.

_The runes are never wrong._

He took out his knife and teased the sharp edge on his finger as he ran it up and down the silver body. He lifted it and tossed it behind his head. It flipped through the air and hit the wall with a hard thud. He smirked, knowing he always hit his target.

And the girl was exactly that.

He stood up and walked over to where the knife stuck out of the wall. “Be ready to be mine, sunshine.” His voice echoed into the empty room as he yanked the blade free. It gleamed against the flicker of the flame, reflecting his confident smirk. 

She had no idea what was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Fífl — (FEEF-uhl) fool, idiot.
> 
> Nidstang — (NITH-stang) a scorn-pole.
> 
> Hersir — (plural hersar) chief general.


	4. The Land of Fire and Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Note:** The decision to make Poe Arab was to fit in with the accounts of Muslim travelers, such as Ahmad Ibn Fadlan and Ibrahim Ibn Yacoub Al Tartushi, and their fascinating trade and cultural exchange. Apologies. This has been a big concern of mine with the importance of cultural sensitivity. Historically, Poe would have been what the Vikings called a “Skræling” (plural skrælingjaror) or the Inuit and Aleut of Greenland and Indigenous peoples of North America since Oscar Isaac is Guatemalan (descendants of the Maya), but none were living in Europe at the time or had any contact beyond Thule. However, the Vikings regularly ventured into Arabia (Baghdad) and Central Asia as traders and explorers that can be found in runestones erected in Scandinavia. You can navigate even more about expansion, racial politics and world view of the Viking Age [here.](https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/14/world/europe/vikings-allah-sweden.amp.html)

Smoke wafted from the sturdy longhouse high above the rest of the village, resting on a knoll overlooking the crags of the Eystrasalt. The smell of skause and freshly baked bread reached Kylo’s nostrils, making his stomach growl. Having no doubt he would be served a bowl, he resolved to eat as much as he could — he’d a full stomach if he wanted to stay on his feet. Poe wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d drunk at least as much as he had, and his tolerance of libations was legendary. He was probably already crooning _the Lament of Ymir_ and the sun hadn’t even set.

He passed through the main dining hall through a door that led to a small hallway. The hallway opened into a large hearth where no less than ten cooks moved with practiced ease around each other. It looked like a synchronized dance. The clanking of pots, swishing of spoons, and sizzling of food was their music and Cook their choreographer. The head cook called out orders, pointed directions, and worked just as hard as the staff she pushed. 

He found his mother standing with her back to him, humming as she slowly stirred the contents of a small iron pot hanging on a tripod standing over a low-burning fire. His mother was small for a Dane, but now she looked even smaller. She stood slightly hunched, a sign not of her spry and active age, but of the toll the visions had taken upon her these days. Her long silver hair was woven into a braid, which looked like a strong and silky rope that trailed down her back.

“When do you leave?” she asked, breaking off her humming without turning around.

“I… we… how did you know?”

“You grew up in this house, and yet you ask me that? A mother doesn’t have to be a seer to know when her son is troubled.”

“Still, it’s… unsettling. I just wish you’d let me actually _tell_ you some news once in a while.”

“Ah, but you already told me. It’s written all over your face, boy.”

“You can’t even see me, Leidvar.” He growled, moving to the cupboard, he took out two bowls and placed them roughly on the table. Years ago, Snærr had insisted he use her proper name rather than calling her Mother, even when they were alone together. Snærr said that it was important for the clan members to see him as the Warlord first and foremost, and that anything else he might be to her, including her son, was secondary. The Queen knew, however, he didn’t feel that way in his heart. She had foreseen early on that he would achieve remarkable things and he would grow up much faster than the other children. She may have had one ear of the Warlord, but Snærr certainly had the other, and if the clan heard him call her by her name or by her title, they would be more likely to accept him — as a man, a warrior, and a leader.

“I see you more clearly than anyone, even yourself. You can’t come stalking up my walkway without giving yourself away — you never could. It’s in the way you move, the way you carry yourself. The shuffle of your feet might as well be a war horn sounding his troubles, and I know what troubles you; you think our warriors aren’t ready.”

“I _know_ they’re not,” he responded, pouring them each a cup of water from a pitcher on the table. “I see there are two cups on this table. You were expecting me.”

“Of course I expected you. Shouldn’t an old woman expect her son for náttverðr? What’s wrong with that?” The corners of her mouth quirked upward as she continued stirring. 

“Don’t give me that _old woman_ shit, Leidvar.” He barked. “I know you had a vision. That’s how you knew we’re about to go on another invasion.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out, ignoring his sore attitude.

“We leave in three days.” He finally sighed as he pulled out the chair that seemed much too small to sustain his weight and sat down ungratefully. “Will you be well?” he asked as he leaned his forearm against the table and pressed his forehead to it. His mother was the only person he would allow to see the taxation the princely responsibilities were taking on him. 

She grinned at him. “Of course I will be well. When have I ever not been?” 

“What are you so happy about?” he asked, staring at her with a puzzled look on his face.

“That is not enough time for your troops,” she responded, ignoring his question, “but that’s not for me to say; I’m no longer a battle priestess. It is, however, the appointed time that I foresaw. It is the time frame you must adhere to. You mustn’t be late, or early, for that matter. Rather, you must arrive precisely at the appointed time, or you will lose her. The arrow that does not fly true, the scorned seeking revenge, and the greedy who is never satisfied. You _must not_ be late.”

It was clear that the Queen was in the presence of Kylo the Wren, the Warlord of the Danes, rather than Bengeirr, her son. Many of their conversations evolved in such a manner — she would slip into seer mode and start spouting prophecies, telling him that their clan must do this or that. Sometimes she made sense, most of the time, however, he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Meet who, Leidvar?” he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer. He felt a heavy, foreboding presence fall over him, like a tunic that was too tight. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable.

As he waited for her reply, she shuffled over to him and, to his surprise, smacked the back of his head. He ducked and frowned. “What was that for?”

“Do you even listen when I speak, boy?” she huffed. “I have already told you about the prophecy many times. You are the one who chooses not to listen. In order to protect our clan, you must take a foreign bride. Up until now, I wasn’t sure, but with the upcoming raid it has been made clear to me your sif just so happens to be from that vast open land of fiery mountains and frozen plains.”

Kylo wanted to groan, but didn’t want to be smacked in the head again, so he held it in. Apparently, she was speaking as both seer and mother this time.

“That is one prophecy that cannot come to pass, Völva. Our clan would never accept an outsider, nei, a _Dane slayer_ at that, to become our queen. They would not respect her — they would consider her an enemy and have her head and tits — it cannot be.”

As she filled their bowls with skause she’d helped prepare, Kylo watched her lips pinch in frustration. Her eyes, always cloudy, were shadowed, and she appeared weighed down by some unseen force. “It is not up to you, Bengeirr, my son. No matter what you think, it is what needs to — nei — what _must_ happen. If we do not change, if this clan doesn’t turn away from the old ways, we will destroy ourselves. The world is changing, becoming smaller. We must be ready; we must adapt.”

“Tell me the prophecy again.” Kylo held up his hand to stop her. “I know you’ve told me before, but I want you to tell me again.”

He watched his mother’s eyes become unfocused and she seemed to slip into a trance just before she spoke. _A young drengr, who is just, fair, and wise beyond his years, will take his rightful place as leader of his people. As he makes his ascension, he will not be alone. The warrior-turned-king will take a bride, not of his people, but from across the sea with a new vision for Skywalker Clan. She is a warrior of Odin and a healer — a rare kind for her race — but she keeps the skill hidden from her people. They fear it instead of embracing the gift that it is. Together, they are a catalyst for the change that will save Clan Skywalker. Without their union, the Clan will be snuffed out, ground into nothing. We will be forgotten, a people lost to history._

“I suppose you believe _I’m_ this young ruler?” Kylo asked. Once she returned to herself, she wordlessly took the seat next to his, said a quick prayer to the gods, and began to eat. He did not repeat the question; there was no point. She would answer when she was ready.

Several bites later, she decided to speak. “It does not take a vision to see that you will be the next king of this clan. But, then again, you somehow manage to bury your head in the ground when something is staring you in the face.”

Whatever else she might be, his mother was honest. “Am I to marry this foreign bride — to whelp pups on her?”

“What?” Her piercing gaze met his and mischief danced in her eyes. “Do you think her body will somehow be inferior to those of the women in our clan? Do you think she will repulse you? Perhaps she’s deformed in someway because she’s not a Dane, with three eyes, six breasts, and a forked tongue. Is that what you fear?”

“Damn, woman, you have a sharp tongue.” Kylo choked as he tried to swallow the bite he’d taken before she’d begun gushing her nonsense. He took a quick sip of mead to clear his throat, and then, because he was his mother’s son, retorted, “You know I do not think such things as well as you know any warm-blooded male would be thrilled to find out his sif has six breasts. He wouldn’t even notice the forked tongue or the third eye.”

Cackles of laughter rolled out of his mother as she covered her mouth with her kirtle. She shook her head at him, then patted his hand. “I am hoping she can match your wit and stand up to your pigheadedness. Having a sharp tongue would probably serve her well also.” 

“You are cruel, Mother. If a sharp tongue and stubbornness is what you desire in a daughter-in-law, I might as well marry one of our clanswomen. I don’t have to look far to find those things.” 

She stood and took their bowls to the wash bin, but one of the cooks snatched it out of her hand before she could even begin to wash it. Turning to her, the Queen put on her best I-could-do-this smile and began cleaning them. Her back was to him, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. “A Dane is not what you need — what _we_ need. We need a healer, not a conqueror.”

“I will not wed a woman I do not love,” he told her as he stood and walked over to her, setting his cup on the counter next to the wash bin. 

“Can you not love a Northwoman?” She pressed. 

“Why do you insist she will be a Northwayan?” He narrowed his eyes at her. It wasn’t uncommon for the Queen to move people around like a tafl game in hopes of bringing her visions to fruition. His mother wasn’t simply a messenger; she was sometimes a meddlesome instigator, if she thought her prophecies were not coming to pass quickly enough. 

“The winds tell me there is a young northern shieldmaiden born with the ability to heal. Now, you come to me, telling me you are leaving to invade Isaland in three days’ time,” she said coyly as she turned her head and raised her brow at him.

Kylo didn’t have to respond. They’d already hashed out the coming campaign. She’d made her point. Unfortunately, her most recent revelation left him unsettled. He was supposed to be getting his warriors ready to storm a foreign land. There were drills to be done, weapons to be maintained, provisions to be packed. He didn’t need any distractions right now. Not to mention that, if the fighting commenced, he was going to need his attention fully on keeping them all alive. He wasn’t going to have time to search for some shieldmaiden healer amid the chaos. Diverting his attention on the battlefield would be utterly mad, tantamount to suicide. He could have told the Queen this, but he knew it would garner him no sympathy. So instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then bowed to the Queen. “Peace to you this night, seeress. Thank you for the meal.”

“And to you, brave warrior. May the gods bless your journey with victory.”

He left the warm familiarity of Skywalker’s Hall and stepped out into the cool spring air. Summer was coming — a change of season. Apparently, it was not the only change their clan needed to prepare for.

~oOo~

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, the rays reaching up and spreading out as though they were long arms, stretching after a good night’s rest. Astrid, the King’s firstborn daughter, wished she could join in nature’s enthusiasm as light rolled over the hills, through the forest, and into the streets of the kingdom. It was as though the earth was calling out. _Good morning, rise, and wake with me._ Ja, a new day had come… and a full day, at least for her anyway.

She heard the stirrings of people beyond her door as the palace began to come to life, the staff bustling and scurrying as the time of their visitors to arrive fast-approached. A light knock sounded at the door, pulling her attention from the morning sun. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that no matter how she wished she could freeze time to prevent the inevitable, she couldn’t. Her fate was sealed.

“My lady.” A soft voice said as the door inched open and Rey peered around.

Princess Astrid motioned for her to come in as she stood in her undergarments. 

“You are wise beyond your years, lovely Astrid,” Rey said wistfully. The handmaidens giggled as they headed for her wardrobe to pick out the dress for the day.

Astrid splashed her face with warm water from the wash basin and looked at herself in the glass. As she blotted the water from her skin, Rey noted emptiness in her eyes and Astrid hating herself from letting the joy be robbed from her life. 

Rey’s face burned brighter and brighter with anger. 

“You have to tell the King.” Rey pleaded. “Call off their pursuit of you.”

Astrid shook her head, once again explaining why that could not happen. “I will not cause him guilt over what cannot be changed. If Father backs out of the arrangement now, his actions would be a declaration of war, which our coffers cannot afford.”

“How can you sacrifice your happiness for us?” Rey asked. “Astrid, your life will be one of anguish if you marry a fool.”

“Duty above all else.” Astrid interrupted. 

“You are so much like your Father.”

Astrid had a higher purpose than need or want, or even love.

Rey let the handmaidens dress and fix the Princess’ hair. The things they could do were amazing — true works of art — but today, Astrid opted for a simple braid that flowed down her back, a ribbon that matched her dress woven in. 

The yard, though busy, did not echo the hustle and bustle going on inside the hall walls. Banners were being hung from the ramparts. Queen Gudrun had been sure to have some specially made in honor of the jarls of Svealand to mix in with their standard adornments, but the colors clashed horribly. Theirs were a deep hunter green and black while Svealand’s were canary yellow and white. Their crest held a lion in its center while Svealand showcased a bird. Rey wondered if the inharmonious hues were symbolic of the union that was to come. Would Princess Astrid’s marriage clash like the crests of their kingdoms? Would the lion devour the bird or would the bird peck out the lion’s eyes? The ridiculous thought had Rey snorting out a laugh as she passed a table of Norse warriors just waking up. 

“What, bikkja?” Hausbrjótr, looking a little worse for ale, asked before dousing himself in one of the large water barrels where they fed their horses.

Rey shook her head. “If you really care to know, bacraut, my odd sense of humor is running wild with my imagination.” 

“It is a good thing you have a sense of humor; it may be your only saving grace.”

“Captain,” his companion called over his shoulder. He, too, dipped his face slowly from the feeding barrels’ top layer of stinging cold water. “Do you think it a terrible omen that our crests are so different from Svea’s and the colors so ill-matched?” 

“Cut-Cheek,” Hausbrjótr’s voice rumbled, “Do not believe in superstitions. We are represented by a lion and Svealand a bird. Nothing more.”

“That’s a rather boring outlook. But I shall not have your balls for a sling-shot for it,” Rey teased him, knowing he hated it.

“You’re a right hrodi,” Hausbrjótr sneered. 

Rey shrugged. When it came to these swina bqllr, who often snuffed out her fun, then yes, she was a right snot. Was it too much to ask her kinsmen, who were nearly her constant companions, to have a bit more creative thinking? After all, the place was a drab enough place with their morose attitudes.

Rey walked to the stable on the far east of the fortress grounds. The large, handsome structure housed over seventy-five horses. Above the stable were living quarters for the stable staff, which was comprised of twenty people who trained and cared for the herd. When she entered through the large sliding doors, she was surprised to find it empty of any employees. The horses were in place, but their caretakers were nowhere to be found, not even the stable master. 

_Where is everyone?_

She heard voices coming from across the building and out the opposite sliding doors. As she got closer to where the voices were coming from, she could see a crowd of people huddled around a figure on the ground. Her first thought was that someone had gotten hurt while working or riding one of the horses, but that was not what she discovered.

It was not a worker who required attention. Instead, one of the large animals lay on its side. She froze mid-step, for it was just not any beast splayed on the ground. It was the King’s favorite horse. His breathing was labored, the horse’s abdomen rising and falling in rapid succession. Several of the trainers were kneeling over him and when one shifted she could see the royal animal healer, Hallbera. Although she wasn’t a healer in a traditional sense, she cared for their sick and injured. As if sending her presence, she looked up, her gaze meeting Rey’s. The tightness in her face and her tightly drawn lips told Rey things did not look good.

It was then Rey felt it — the subtle stirring that rose in her when she was in the presence of the ill. Like a sixth sense, she could sense malady. Then, as always, she was drawn, irresistibly, as if by some unseen cord, toward the injured life-form. 

It was her gift, and from what little she knew about it, the ability to heal was very rare and seldom talked about. People feared things they couldn’t explain or control. Fakse had told her to hide her gift, because, as she said, _when people are scared, they do scary things._ Only Fakse, Ljúfvina, sisters, and a select few people on the hall grounds knew of her abilities. Thankfully, Hallbera was one of them. 

She stood briskly and spoke with the authority that came from many years in a position of responsibility. “I need everyone to get back to work. The captain of the guard is here, and she can assist me now so the other horses can be tended. Off with you. Captain, if you can please make sure everyone leaves the stables.” As she finished, she turned her back on the crowd and focused her attention on the wounded animal. 

The staff responded immediately and hurried back to their duties. When the path was clear, Rey ran the rest of the way to Hallbera and fell to their knees by the injured horse. 

“He tripped.” Hallbera began. “He was being ridden in an unfamiliar part of the woods, and stumbled in a hole. The rider returned with him on-foot, the horse limping the whole way back on what I am certain is a broken leg. I just hope the long way back did not do permanent damage. Even if it heals correctly, he could still become lame, unlikely to bear a rider or saddle due to the weight.” 

”Piss,” Rey swore under her breath. The King would be devastated. Horses were unique animals. They formed a deep bond with their owner — both fulfilling the need for the other. Somewhere along the way, the King and Alsvin formed a friendship. The King would be as mournful as if he’d lost a human friend if he lost Alsvin.

Hallbera moved to the side just a bit but stayed next to Rey. Now shoulder-to-shoulder, she placed her hands on the injured animal, appearing to anyone who might pass that she was tending to the horse. 

“Bjarke, grab that roll of gauze so we can wrap his leg.” Rey barked to the stable master. When he had done so, Rey pulled him closer so that he hovered over Alsvin, further obscuring the view of the horse from anyone who happened to be in the area. Once everyone was in position, Rey placed her hands on the injured leg, bowed her head, and closed her eyes, as she began chanting.

She spoke as softly as she could but still said the words out loud. “I come to help, not to intrude. Let my spirit heal; let it soothe. Relax your defenses, I take not your will. I only want to mend. Now, peace be still.” 

She did not know where the words came from, or if they were even needed, but when she attempted to heal, it was like she had to coax their spirit — their soul — open to let her in. Usually, at first, the spirit perceived her as a threat and refused her healing power until she made it known she was only trying to help. Most curious to her, however, was that the words were never the same. With every healing, she always said something different, and she had to say it audibly. She learned this when she attempted to heal a dove just outside her open window one day. She did not want to speak for fear someone in the fields beyond would overhear her. She thought the words, but nothing happened. She did this several times before she finally, in frustration, said the words in a whisper. Suddenly, she healed the dove. 

After that incident, she began questioning her abilities, trying to determine why speaking the words was necessary. She was surprised to learn from Yade that there was an innate power in the spoken word, touting many examples of great leaders shaping the destiny of their people through only speech. It was said that Freya spoke with authority to command the dead and caused incredible spring blooms. It was also said that the decrees of great kings and warlords were always spoken aloud because the spoken word penetrated deeper into the minds of the people. It was if the words were floating in the air and the crowds reached out and plucked them from the air, storing them away. Yet after hearing all these stories, she knew nothing of her gift. She only did what came natural to her. 

Once she felt her power flow into the injured horse, she opened her eyes and lifted her hands from his leg. Alsvin immediately tried to get up, a sign he no longer felt any pain, but they quickly soothed him so Hallbera could wrap the leg as if it were still injured. 

“I will take this off in a couple of days. As far as everyone else is concerned, Alsvin has a mild sprain,” Hallbera said as they all stood up, coaxing Alsvin to rise slowly with them. 

“Thank you,” Rey told her. 

She shook her head. “You are the one with the gift, Captain. We should be thanking you, but instead we must hide your incredible ability because _they_ are so afraid.” She sounded disgusted.

She knew she was talking about the royal family. They loved Rey, of that she had no doubt, but they could not accept what she was able to do. It scared them, so she kept it to herself. The King ordered her to only use it in the direst of situations, but she could not just leave someone, human or animal, in need if she could heal them. 

She patted Hallbera’s shoulder. “They cannot stop me, and for now that is enough.” 

She started to lead Alsvin back into the barn but then turned to Rey, her eyes tilted down and her forehead wrinkled in worry. “I am sorry about Fakse and that you will be leaving us, especially under the circumstances. You should not be forced into this position.”

Rey did not have a reply, so she bowed her head once to show her she appreciated her words. After Hallbera was out of sight, she turned to look at the stable master. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “But I am dreading telling the King about this.” He motioned toward the hall. 

Rey did not know if it was necessary for them to tell him what really happened. Word would get back to him, of course — the hall staff could gossip with the best of them — but he would hear it was a sprain. He need not know Rey was involved. “Let us leave it to the gossiping hierarchy to deliver the information to him. Alsvin is fine, so there is no need to trouble the King when there are so many other things going on.” 

He nodded. “So, where are you off to now?”

She looked toward the forest. It called to her, whispering of adventures she’d once had in its tall trees and hidden depths. Her tree was just on the edge of the forest, and though she spent a lot of time there, she also spent days wandering through the shaded woods, enjoying all the mysteries nature held. It had been a while since she had visited, and now she wanted nothing more than to run through the woods — just her, and the huge trees around her.

~oOo~

Kylo did not know what lied ahead of him. He did not know what the outcome of this voyage would be. All he could do was hope that they ended up on the side of good.

He wondered how long he could pull off the charade before someone found out the tides turned. Snærr had many flaws, but one became his downfall — Snærr believed his intelligence was superior to all others. He could not fathom his foe strategically beating him. Kylo, however, was under no such illusion. There would be loss on both sides, and whether they would be successful was yet to be seen.

Poe walked over and stood next to him, his large arms folded across his chest. “Is this a mistake, Kylo?”

Kylo clenched his fists at his sides, and he felt as if the weight of the world had been lowered on his shoulders. “Nei,” he began, “this is not _a_ mistake. This is the first of many.”

Suddenly, a loud horn was blown and all eyes were on their leader. Two more notes and all the warriors were headed for the spot where Kylo stood.

“Who is blowing that damn horn?” Jackdaw muttered under his breath as they began to walk toward the gathered men. “They are going to bring all of Danmark down upon us. The coastlines here are murderous.”

Seven skeids glided toward the eastern shore. Jarl Brondolf’s boat reached it first. The lord of the swordplay oft let his heavy weapon sing, and the grim chief sent many great warriors to their death. Two men near the prow jumped over the side, holding the ropes that would guide it to shore. Arnmundur, the weasel prince, generous to many skalds, went to battle in the eastern lands, and always won the fight, called to his own men, all dressed in scarlet, to get them ready to disembark. Half pulled in their oars and readied themselves to jump overboard.

“Those are Jarl Brondolf’s colors. They do not care if we do not want them here.” Kylo explained. “He is daring us to make a move.” Poe started to say something but Kylo held up his hand to stop him. “A few of his sympathizers are close by,” Kylo said as a couple of warriors positioned themselves close to them. Poe nodded and kept his lips closed. 

“Warlord Wren!” A voice bellowed.

The man pushed through the crowd until he was standing next to his Warlord.

He motioned for his men to follow and they headed for the Warlord’s ship. When they arrived, it was already surrounded by most of the men. 

“What have you found out?” Kylo asked the spy. 

“Jarl Brondolf and his son Arnmundur the Quarrelsome have indeed arrived, and they only brought a small contingency of guards, not an entire army. However, I wonder, my lord, if we might need to pick another kingdom to raid.”

“What are you talking about?” Kylo snapped.

“The natives are poor; some still living in caves and eating hákarl and boiled sheep heads as a delicacy. I overheard some traders talking and they’ve been relentlessly raided by other Viking clans for months. They’ve practically cleaned King Ozur out, which is why he agreed to the marriage of his eldest daughter to a yet-to-be king of Svea.”

Norse custom dictated that before any marriage could take place, the groom paid a bride price to his intended’s family to show he was capable of supporting her and any children in the appropriate manner. In return her family paid a dowry which he could use during his lifetime, but which reverted to the woman and her children at his death or after divorce. The amount exchange usually canceled each other out.

“If they have no funds, they are weak, making easy to defeat,” Kylo said.

The men frowned. Did the Warlord not just hear what the spy said? There were no riches to be had there. Why would he still want to raid the Norsemen? His madness was becoming more and more apparent, and it was going to get them all killed. The spy continued to tell the Warlord what he’d learned, but he’d heard enough. He moved quietly away from the group and headed back to where they left their things.

“It seems we have no reason to go there,” Asgot with the Red Sheild spoke up as all six of his sword brothers joined him by their packs and weapons. Kylo began gathering his weapons and went through his pack, throwing out anything that was unnecessary. The others followed suit. 

“We are going for a reason,” Kylo said. “Regardless of Jarl Brondolf’s plans, we have our own. The Queen has spoken, and I am going to fulfill her prophecy. But no one,” he paused, looking each of them in the eye, “no one is to know about it. This is a private mission. Understood?”

Each of them nodded their heads and gave their word to take their secret to their graves. Kylo didn’t feel the need to elaborate on what the Queen had told him, and nobody asked. He glanced back over to the garden and saw his mother gathering herbs and grasses for her spells. “Wait here for me,” he told Poe. “I need to speak with my mother before we take our leave.”

“Why are you still here? You need to be faring thither westwards.”

“My closest men and I were just about to begin to set out, but I wanted to check with you before we depart. Are you well?” he asked.

“Aside from being stuck at home with that crazy oaf of a husband wandering out there, I’m fine.”

“Yet there are many foes who would attack our lands while I am gone.”

“I have news brought to me from all over the waves to Sjáland’s tongue. Our enemies are otherwise occupied.”

“Is this news or hearsay?”

“The Brothers Hut are beyond in Gardariki. Bjarne the Cruel is locked within his fortress and Hrafn, lord of Uppakra, dare never attack an army that has the gods with them.”

“What of rogues and raiders? What of crops in the fields and livestock on the hills? You have your swords ready to sing?” 

She clucked her tongue at him. “Do you take me for a fool or a child? Of course I have half the guard and the leidang at my side. I will be fine, unless you fail to woo your princess — then none of us will be fine. Do not just snatch her up, Bengeirr. She is meant to be yours; you only need to be available for her and fate will take over.”

She made it sound so easy, yet he knew it would not be that simple. There would be obstacles to overcome, like infiltrating the land without getting caught by the swarming patrols. 

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

“How can I make a promise I cannot keep?” he chuckled. “Stupid is in my nature.”

“Deal with things one thing at a time, Bengeirr. Once you get in the chief’s hall, you can forge ahead with a more laid-out plan. Don’t try to have it all figured out before you know what the situation is.”

“I will do what I must to ensure the clan survives,” he told her. “You just make sure you take rest. And no healing — _anyone_ — while I’m away.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been taking care of myself for quite a while now. Now, off with you.” She pushed him the direction from which he’d come from. “And do not fail.”

“Thank you for your encouragement, Mother,” he said dryly. 

“It’s not my task to encourage you, Son. It’s my task to kick you in your ass when you need it. Now go get my future daughter-in-law and keep her safe.”

He left, chuckling at his mother’s words. The woman had a wicked, sharp tongue, but he would do as she asked. He would somehow convince the shieldmaiden to come with him. He would do whatever it took to save his clan. What he didn’t know, was that he would soon want to save her and her people, too.

~oOo~

The day was beautiful — a world of fantastical beings and unimaginable adventures. The sun was high and hot in the sky, but the breeze was cool against the sheen of sweat gathering on Rey’s skin. She tilted her head back as she squeezed the horse’s flanks. The animal took off in a huge lunge moving smoothly into a fast cantor.

“You are riding that horse like a Kári demon and not like a lady, Rey. Thor’s beard, how am I supposed to get a man to marry you if you run them all off?” the King chuffed. He was still a fine figure of a man, his snugly fitted tunic showing that he was still powerfully built; though his advanced years were beginning to tell on him. His beard had long since gone gray, his eyes slowly dimming, and his belly was soft like mush. But his fully grown children loved him, as did his queen, who was waiting for him back at the hall. 

She was used to this type of talk over their weekly routine. She kept her head tilted back and soaked up the warm rays. “Perhaps. Now, here is an idea, don’t try to get me married, Lord. I’ll continue to run them off, and I’ll continue to ride like this until I have a good reason not to.”

“You take too much upon you, Rey. If you had a husband and children of your own, you would have no time to interfere in the affairs of men. You should have been married long since. Is that not reason enough?”

She could feel his judgemental gaze searing into her, but she didn’t open her eyes. She refused to let his tone ruin the trance the sun put in her. 

“It is such a nice day.” 

The previous few weeks had passed in a flurry of busyness. The entire household had been in an uproar as they prepared for the massive number of guests they would be receiving. The Queen was in a tizzy, ensuring there would be enough food, drinks, and beds. The great hall had no shortage of rooms — with three stories, eight wings jutting out like the eight points of a sunstone, and well over forty rooms, including a central dining hall, armory, workroom for crafts and loom, storage for crops and tools, male and female bathing suites, barn, and staff quarters, there was plenty of space. Rey personally thought the hall was a bit much. She’d always gotten lost in it when she was chasing the girls, and still did from time to time.

They took quiet pleasure in watching their mother flit about, looking as though she was doing some bizarre dance and the staff around her were her unwitting ensemble. Rey found herself standing in the center-most chamber, which housed doors on all sides, so she could watch from the best vantage point when she wasn’t being pressed into service herself.

She respected the King deeply and he made no secret of the fact that she was the champion that had his favor, and she would never trade their weekly ride for the world, but there were some days where she wished he would not speak because every word that came out of his mouth was about marrying her off, and for the life of her, she didn’t understand why. Her company had been congenial to him for she knew how to make him laugh. A fearless rider, she had often accompanied him on the chase. However, their conversations had put the King in mind of his responsibilities towards his sword and shield. 

His three beautiful daughters were to be married off to Svear noblemen. For Astrid, it was her duty to marry a nobleman worthy of becoming the king of Svealand or marry another king in order to secure an alliance beneficial to their empire. Every decision for the King’s family was about power — how to gain it and how to keep it. Throughout all the kingdoms, the ruler who held the most land and possessed the largest army was feared. As daughters of the throne, what they personally wanted was nullified. It didn’t matter that they would wed someone they didn’t love. Nothing mattered except what their father, the king, wanted.

“You have been under my watchful eye from the time ye were a mere pup and putting a quarrel into all the lads. Your mother was the bravest woman I have ever known. She happily gave her life to save her people. She would be so very proud of what you have become, child. As proud as your father was...”

“My father could not have cared less.”

“Mind your mouth, girl. Since you have no male relative to broker you a marriage deal, I shall find you a husband. ‘Twould be my honor. These are troubled times and a woman should not be without a protector.”

“But, Lord, I’m not a burlufotr hrafnasueltir! I’m a warrior. I’m a _trained_ warrior.”

This was too beyond dispute, but she had assumed that he would forget the matter as he did with everything not immediately concerned with his own interests. 

Her body warmed, and she felt a transcendent relaxation from the sun. 

She was barely in the beginning stages of her hypnotic state. She didn’t open her eyes. Nothing was worth breaking this wonderful peace she felt.

~oOo~

Rey lay back in her bed and pulled the covers up around her. Sleep would be difficult to come by after what the King had told her. But she guessed she was more tired than she realized, because she managed to drift off after only a few minutes.

Her dreams were filled with a hideous monster wearing a bloody crown. Wolves carrying sharp swords and biting axes chased the monster. Suddenly, another monster, stronger and more terrible than the first, appeared. This one wore a black sheep’s skin over his body and a boar’s head with antlers on his skull like a helmet. He was quiet as he hunted, ignoring the other monster and the chasing wolves. His narrow eyes were cunning but also crazed, like a starved beast given a banquet of meat. He was too wary to eat, though his hunger gnawed at him. The chaos suddenly stopped as a glowing light appeared in the middle of the battlefield. At first, it was just a small ball of illumination, but then it began to grow, larger and larger, until finally it was blinding. Then a woman appeared, standing alone. The wolves were bowing to the woman. Both monsters simply watched her, salivating as they stared at her. Then they looked at each other and each had venom in their eyes. Suddenly, with a mighty roar, they lunged at one another, fangs bared and slavering. Rey didn’t see what happened next. The dream winked out, and she was simply sleeping. 

Even in her sleep, with the dream gone, she still wondered at the second monster that slunk around the battlefield. She understood the monster with the crown. That part of the dream was all too clear. But the second monster and the army of wolves was a mystery to her. Why were the wolves chasing this draugr king? Whether correct or not, she saw herself as the woman, the light around her representing her healing ability. Both monsters terrified her. The second monster, however, seemed even more terrifying because she didn’t know his identity. Just before she felt herself beginning to wake from the restless sleep, she heard a woman’s voice in her head.

“He will be coming soon. It is time we talked. It is time you know what the Norns hold in store for you.”

“Who are you,” Rey asked the voice. 

“I am the Wolf Mother.”

~oOo~

The day began early for Kylo and his men, and, as camp broke, Sól had just started her journey across the sky, creating a blazing spectacle. The men began their customary preparations and the march started as quietly as the dew melted upon the knolls. The sun glinted off their swords and shields and they appeared something akin to ancient gods crossing the wide expanse of the countryside. The land slanted upward gently from the harbor, all grey and bright and mossy green, nearly treeless. Here and there about the settlement had been constructed pens, mostly built of stone, where they saw goats, sheep, and geese. A few ponies about wandered like common residents. Spread out on either side of the dwellings were neat fields, green with growing grain.

The King’s dwellings stood about halfway up the rise; behind it, the terrain climbed still higher to a rolling summit topped with rock. Despite the improvements the residents had made, the place seemed nearly featureless after the beauty of Skywalkerland. How did these people survive?

As it arose out of the mist, they knew what agony awaited the inhabitants, but Kylo took no pleasure in it. 

~oOo~

As Rey walked down the hall corridors, she awed at the transformation the dreary stone structure had undergone. Queen Gudrun had outdone herself. Banners heralded their family crest proudly as they hung throughout the halls. Four long strips of fabric had been woven together — two were their colors and two were Svea’s. It was fastened along the wall, rising and falling like rolling hills. At every dip, a huge bouquet of flowers, also the two kingdoms’ colors, was attached to the fabric. This continued along every corridor, on every wall throughout the hall. Every oil lamp was adorned with flowers and a bow. The harmonization of the colors still left something to be desired, but against the gray stone of the walls, there was something striking about the green, black, yellow, and white joining in a swirl of disjointed adornment.

Once the shock of the splendor had settled, she continued on her trek to snag some of the sausages. Even though she could’ve had dagverðr with the royal family, Rey preferred to get it herself, mostly so she had an excuse to see the Queen in private, and today she really needed Rey’s matter-of-fact air and tell-it-like-it-is ways. Rey would not blow smoke up her petticoat or tell her what she wanted to hear. Rey would tell the Queen what she thought, regardless of how it might make her feel.

~oOo~

“Is our Warlord going mad?” Dag the Fat asked as they marched through the cover of trees toward the Norse palace. Six of Kylo’s closest warriors surrounded Poe, soldiers Kylo knew he could trust without question.

Poe had expected such a question, having seen the mania that seemed to dance in his Warlord’s eyes as he explained his plan to infiltrate the Norse kingdom. To the surprise of them all, the Warlord had made it clear that he wanted his spoils to include more than just gold and silver — if there was even any left. He wanted to bring the monarchy to its knees. Kylo was sure of the inevitable success of his plan, convinced if they just pranced up to the ranks of the húskarls and batted their eyes, they could cause the Norsemen to implode in on themselves. Mayhap with enough men, such a dangerous plan might be plausible, but it was not only the Norse army they had to contend. The jarls of Svealand had arrived ahead of them and would remain for some time, courting their future queen. While the state of Kylo’s sanity was debatable, but his intellect was sound. He had picked precisely this time to invade due to the presence of the other suitors. More suitors meant twice or triple as much treasure, not to mention the mundr and heiman fylgia that would be exchanged. 

Even if Kylo’s invasion was a fool’s errand, the Warlord still had too many loyal soldiers. Jarl Brondolf would not be able to overthrow Kylo if dissent erupted within the clan. It was better to bide their time and wait for the others to grasp the danger into which the Warlord was leading them. Poe only hoped they did not come to the realization too soon. 

“They say the Viking gods talk to their kings and queens,” their hersir told them, his voice low as they drew closer to the palace walls. 

“Ja, madness. He is tormented by the gods. They like to cock up his plans. ‘Tis sport to them.” Ironfist joined in. In one hand he always carried a double-headed blood-stained axe. “How can the others not see that?”

“They are blinded by their own greed,” Hooknose said in the gravelly voice familiar to those who knew him.

“I thought you were warriors, not níðskalds?”

“We have the gift, Lord Poe, we really do!”

“Why are we doing this, Hersir?” Ironfist asked. 

“Because, at the moment, we have no other choice. We swore an oath. We gave our word. And that is about reputation and honor.”

“Has the Queen seen anything that would benefit us?” Hrungnir asked.

Poe was tempted to tell them of the prophecy, but something stayed his tongue. He did not know if he was being protective of the female his Warlord claimed would be his, or if he was afraid of altering the outcome. So, Poe shook his head and left it at that.

~oOo~

For the King, the day seemed like any other day only for something inside his shield was restless. She had said that she didn’t know how to describe the feeling, except that it felt like a typhoon raging in her stomach like some mighty storm brewing on the horizon, sure to bring dramatic change to their lives. She could feel it, coming steadily toward them on the wind. At first, the King thought it related to his daughter’s pending nuptials, but now he felt it was bigger than that, more significant. He felt the need to be ready, but he didn’t know what to be ready for.

He sipped a bit of leftover skause still in the cauldron from the night before with bread and fruit when the sound of hooves pounded against the ground like a stampede of wild animals. This was no stampede, though. Just a few horses.

And it made him jump from the table and rub the sleep from his eyes. 

“Hold fast! Who are you? From your dress, you are Danes. Speak! Why should I not run you through right now?”

“Your King will know who I am. Let me through.”

“You’re Kylo Wren!” the guard shouted. 

“ _The_ Wren,” the rough baritone replied. The King couldn’t place the voice, but it slithered on his skin like something he knew, something dreary, like ice and death.

There was the familiar sound of hooves again. The King turned his head to the front gate and two men on big horses went through the guards.

“Bengeirr Jóhannesson,” the King greeted. “You have grown since I last saw you.”

The name rocked Kylo’s core. It wasn’t Bengeirr who was one of the most notorious Sea Kings from the frozen shores of the North to the hot, harsh sands of Serkland. Everyone knew him as Kylo. They should have known from all the silver beads in his hair. And yet, they were always trying to shame him as the boy they remembered...

They _tried_ , but would not succeed.

“Ozur the Mighty,” he answered in return. “This is my second—”

“Poe the Arab. I know of him. The two brothers who own the lands by claiming the dead,” the King snapped. “Your reputations precede you.”

“My brother and I have traveled far to request an audience. May we ask to join you this day?” asked Kylo.

The two men jumped off their horses. They were huge men and the beasts they rode were the largest these people had ever seen. Kylo’s horse was a deep, resonant black while his brother’s was the color of a storm cloud. Both beasts had black eyes, dark, shining with bad intentions and evil.

The King always loved horses, but these ones scared the Helheim out of him.

“Bengeirr… Kylo… Whatever your name is… I should call you monster. It is better suited.”

Kylo chuckled. “How do you know I am a monster? Perhaps I am a paragon of charm and wit!”

“Not to mention dashingly handsome.”

Kylo scoffed. “Thank you, Poe.”

“You absolutely may not. You show up here on my land, my home, while I’m having dagverðr with my family? How dare you!”

Kylo smirked, the same smirk of his scoundrel father.

He strolled past the King and with heavy, pounding steps that shook the ground under him and sat on the swing the King had built when his children were small. The wood and chains creaked from his weight, and he spread his arms back, rocking back and forth. He was bare-chested, with nothing but a leather gird around his waist and black, woolen breeches. His biceps stretched and his chest was wide and strong, causing the womenfolk’s eyes to drift to places they did not belong. He was breathtaking. There really was no way to describe the fierce looking warrior before them. He was not pretty. He was too masculine for pretty. He was striking. His unwavering stare and large, solid frame was incredibly intimidating and fearsome. 

“I have an offer to make you, Lord. I give you until dusk to decide.”

“And if I refuse?” the King asked, hiding his wife and daughters the best he could behind his back.

“You know me. You know my name. You know what I do. I’m not the kind of man to ask for something. So, if you don’t agree, do not think I won’t take it. Am I clear?” Kylo’s black, menacing eyebrow tilted up. The way he spoke, the authority and strength oozing from his body, made the knees threaten to give out from under the most deadliest of warriors.

“I will not give you anything, you bastard piece of rassragr,” the King spat. His queen’s fingers curled into the silk of his shirt, grabbing onto him for dear life, afraid they would kill him for saying such things. 

Kylo tossed his head back and laughed. The sound was sardonic, but the King bridled in response, only making him that much furious with the entire situation. Poe started to laugh, too. The only ones who weren’t were the King and his kin. 

“Did you hear that, Kylo? He said he wasn’t giving you anything.” Poe pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. 

Kylo stood tall, towering over them like a strong tree. His body created a large shadow, caging them in darkness. His leather gird rubbed against the swing as he stood, and he ran his finger over his scruff again, pondering perhaps — he seemed to do that a lot to these people.

“I do hear that, Poe. I do.” He walked around the King, then circled back again and stood in front of him again. “Remember, Ozur. I’ve taken hundreds of villages. I’ve conquered Kings greater than you. I own the South, West, East, and all I am missing is the North.”

“Nei! I’ve built Húsavík with my sword! From a mud hut to a thriving port! This is my home!” the King cried. “I’ll dispatch you to Corpse Hall before you can destroy it!”

“I haven’t had much of a reason to come here. You know what I do. I save women and children from horrible men, and while you don’t have the venom flowing through your kingdom, you do have something I want.” Kylo ended, grabbing the horn of his saddle and kicking his leg over the horse that stood nearly as tall as he did. 

“And what is that?”

Kylo smirked. “I want to wed the Golden Maiden. I want her promised to me, and in return, I won’t burn your home to the ground.”

“Rey God’s-Eye?” the King screamed. “My _shield_?”

“— _Rey_ ,” Kylo said, shock in his eyes as if he couldn’t believe the name came out of his own mouth. 

“Not my daughter Astrid?”

Kylo smiled in victory, knowing it was her. His future wife. “Why in the name of Loki would I want your daughter? She is of no value to me. I want the shieldmaiden.”

“We hear she is a spirited piece, brave, and impudent too. She will learn to take a husband,” Poe stated, cleaning the dirt underneath his fingernails with a blade.

“Not to the likes of him.”

“O, from what I hear I’m the only man that can handle a mouth like your shield has. I’ll be back to collect what is mine before sundown.”

He kicked his heels in the horse’s sides, and the beast reared up, kicking his hooves in the air to threaten whoever was around it to back away. 

“You have until dusk!” he screamed over the loud bellow coming out of the horse’s gut. 

The threat lingered in the air as the horses kicked up dirt and galloped away. A vain and prideful part of the King would never bend to Kylo’s will and be dispossessed of his throne, and the other part, the wiser part, knew better. Kylo the Wren was a thieving, lying bastard. Another Dane with a busy sword. A brutal, savage man that took and took until there was nothing left. A king stood for his country’s honor and glory, which he could never trade Rey God’s-Eye. She was someone he could not do without, a guarantee of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Eystrasalt — Baltic Sea.
> 
> Hákarl — putrefied shark meat. Traditionally, eating [hákarl](https://www.technology.org/2019/11/18/hakarl-fermented-meat-of-a-poisonous-shark-that-tastes-like-urine-soaked-mattress/) has been interpreted as a sign of strength, which makes sense once you’ve actually smelled it; it’s said hákarl smells even stronger (not “better”) than it tastes. 
> 
> Bacraut — asshole.
> 
> Bikkja — a nag (old horse).
> 
> Burlufotr hrafnasueltir — clumsy-footed “raven starver.” Ravens are important to Norse mythology; anyone who starved ravens would be considered a coward and a fool. The dead on the battlefield were fodder for hungry ravens, and anyone who couldn’t provide this feast, i.e., not fight, was a coward.
> 
> Hrodi — snot.
> 
> Swina bqllr — pig penises.
> 
> Draugr — “again-walker,” “phantom,” a ghoul or revenant; also the meaning of “a pale, ineffectual, and slow-minded person that drags himself along.”
> 
> Skause — a meat stew, made variously, depending on available ingredients.
> 
> Dagverðr — day meal.
> 
> Náttverðr — night meal.
> 
> Svealand or Svea — Sweden.
> 
> Svealander, Svear, Sveonian — Swedish.
> 
> Isaland or Islond — Iceland.
> 
> Heiman fylgia — dowry.
> 
> Mundr — bride-price.
> 
> Níðskald — insult-poet.
> 
> Húskarl — a member of the _hirð_ (royal household bodyguard) of a Scandinavian king or noble.
> 
> Rassragr — (rass: “arse”; agr: “to become ergi”) a man who allowed other men to sodomize him. The Old Norse and Danes weren’t completely opposed to gay sex, so long as you were the buggeror. Being the buggeree was shameful, and accusing another of being one was a very bad insult indeed. One’s sexual partners mattered little so long as one married, had children, and conformed at least on the surface to societal norms so as not to disturb the community. Those Scandinavians who attempted to avoid marriage because of their sexuality were penalized in law. Moreover, there are no recorded instances of homosexual or lesbian couples in the Viking Age. The idea of living as an exclusively homosexual person did not exist in most cultures until present day Western civilization appeared. It must be remembered, however, this was a culture which valued men for their hardness, and where reputation was all. A great deal of emphasis was placed on independence, toughness, and the kind of bloody-minded aggression that seems almost pathological to us in our gentler modern society. As a result, there could be no worse thing that your enemies could do to you than to publicly insult you and call you soft. In fact, the Old Norse and Old Danes were extremely touchy about the whole subject of insults.


	5. The Shield Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW for:** Warfare and violence.

Rey shrieked and leapt forward over the body of the Dane who’d just fallen to her sword. The ground all around her was littered with bodies. The liquid heat that always filled her joints and muscles in a fight throbbed and surged. She had known that frantic fire since before she’d ever picked up a shield or sword, and she had come to know it as bloodlust. Battle rage. 

Power.

In the bubbling hot spring of the hamlet, the people had gone about their business, though looking anxiously about all the while. The pool talk was of the Danes’ plans, and non-stop tongues wagging about the men themselves, mostly of their chieftain, the tallest and most fearsome of the giants. The men were talking of his expertise with weapons and how to defeat him, but their women spoke of him in much different ways, usually giggling and blushing. They had paid heed to nothing but gazing at him and his grandeur, and that of his followers. They knew he was their enemy, but they couldn’t help themselves when it came to his obvious physical attributes. When their husbands came along, their conversations changed to hatred and terror again, their feelings being a little of both.

The knowledge that the King had posted sentinels throughout the estate offered partial reassurance when the Danes were already inside their kingdom; all they could do was wait to make a move. Why hadn’t there been any warning? Why hadn’t someone seen the fires that surely must be burning as the Danish horde swept through the countryside? A pain tugged behind Rey’s eyes. Later, she’d investigate ways of improving the warning system. At least there would be no surprise attacks. Perhaps it was as the King had said: now that he began defending Húsavík more energetically, fortifying the town, rivers and coastal dwellings, the enemy forces would adventure no further. It was a slender hope for the greed among the warring tribes was legendary. Land and timber was aplenty in Isaland as people were migrating from other countries where farmable land was already taken. There was only so much farmable land here, as well. Their periodic raids were a fact of life, as were land feuds. The peace of the island was steadily being chipped away. There was always the threat of oblivion. Many vengeful sea-kings made war on Húsavík while it was heathen, but the able-bodied, fighting Isalanders always maintained victory and their rights. Before, the King would have trusted Ljúfvina to take care of the matter, and, though their army was able to successfully resist, the enemy had regularly carried off women, grain and livestock along with any other loot that seized their fancy. Then they sailed for their lands taking their booty with them. 

Rey shivered to think of the poor souls, of the warrior women, like Fakse, taken off to a life of slavery in a strange country, who must become unwilling sea wives or concubines to their new masters. It would be better to fight to the death than submit to such a fate as that.

She stood on the crest of a hill warily watching the busy scene below. Her golden-sunset hair flew about her face from the fierce wind, a precursor to a brewing storm that, from the look of the dark clouds in the distance, was still a few hours away. She slowly took a deep breath of the ocean air and tried to still her trembling limbs.

The horn warning brought the peasants from the fields and the wood to seek the relative safety of the pale. For unknown years, glaciers had etched away the land below the water of this fjord, making it perfect for incoming ships. Unlike the waters in their old home of the Northern Way, these waters stayed free of ice year-round because of the strange warm current that surrounded most of the southern and western side of Isaland. 

“ARROWS AND SPEARS TO THE WALL!”

On the banks of the fjord below, no sooner were they gathered within than the men on the wall called out as a warning as the forward ranks of the Dane host appeared. Like an army of sinister wraiths, silent and intent, they emerged from among the great fire-worm’s mist into the pasture beyond. One of their archers loosed an arrow, killing a Norse guard where he stood. Then, as though at a signal, a great shout went up from the invaders, splitting the stillness, and they surged forward as one.

“Merciful Tyr,” murmured Rey. There were hundreds of them. And every one of them ugly. By her private reckoning the villagers would be outnumbered five to one. 

Besides her, her armed companion had made a similar calculation. They wanted revenge for insulting their chieftain, but beneath that, there was something more than just goldlust.

The Isalanders, broken and weary as they were from fighting the Danes and losing, again and again, were yet putting up a vigorous fight. The King always had his hirdmen prepared and each one of them knew where they were supposed to be. Within a short time they could reassemble, armed to the teeth, and grimly determined to defend their homes and their lives. But mostly they were simple farmers, freemen, and serfs who fought with picks and hoes and whatever else they could find, with not enough warriors to combat the seasoned party. Only a few were left on their feet, and the dirt had gone muddy from the blood of their dead.

She held her breath, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. 

“SHEILD WALL! SHEILD WALL!”

Rey heard the call and abandoned her charge, turning instead toward the King, and running to take her place with her fellows. As she ran, she saw a second wave of Danes pouring over the wall like a tide beneath their black banner, bearing the image of the mighty black wolf of clan Skywalker. Jötnar they seemed, these fierce warriors, cruel with battle thirst, each face alight with lust for blood and conquest. In that quick, running glance, Rey could only watch as the defense crumbled and they were beaten back towards the great hall. Besides them the King and his men fought on, shoulder to shoulder, returning the enemy blow for blow. Half a dozen men fell under the King’s sword while all around him the group of defenders grew smaller and more desperate, redoubling their efforts, hacking and thrusting and parrying, each man determined to sell his life dear.

“LOOSE!”

She locked in with the others just as a volley of arrows flew into the sky and then thundered down onto their heavy alder shields. Then another volley rained down. An arrow slammed into Rey’s shield and made her arm sing. And then the new warriors charged, trying to break through the wall.

“BRACE!”

At the command, Rey dug into her crouch and locked her shoulder. The impact of the mass of men falling on them at once was great, but the wall was not moved. Unshielded villagers, men who fought with no protection but their weapons and their inner fire, leapt up and brought their axes down on the bodies of the men trying to breach the shield wall. 

“OPEN!”

A space was opened in the wall, and another shieldmaiden slammed her axe into the face of a Dane who’d lost his helm. 

“CLOSE!”

They closed the wall over his dead body, and the villagers leapt up again, slamming brutal blows down on the Danes, breaking pointed swords with mighty axes. 

Again, Friti, the King’s eldest son shouted, “OPEN!” just as the invaders surged. At least ten of them fell into the breach and were surrounded by villagers as the King’s son shouted and the wall closed again. Rey came face to face with a warrior no older than she. She saw terror in his eyes — and shock that he faced a woman. 

And then she shoved her sword up, into the soft meat under his chin, and his eyes died with the rest of him. 

When the odds were more balanced, the shield wall came apart, and Danes and remaining villagers fought freely. Rey yanked the arrow from her shield as she leapt backward, clear of the scrum. It was to be a shieldmaiden’s benefit to let her foe see she was a woman; whenever they fought across the sea, there was always the surprise that caused a missed step, some hesitation, something that gave her the upper hand. 

Her own people expected women to fight. These savages kept their women weak and helpless, using them like little more than broodmares to break and bear their offspring.

One of the Danes surged toward her as she jumped away, bringing his sword forward with skill and intent. He barely blinked when he saw her face, and she barely managed to block the sword aimed at her neck. She did, though, throwing her shield up, and the force of her block surprised him. Using the half-second of his surprise, she slammed her forehead into him, catching his chin and mouth, and her vision ran red with his blood. As he reeled, she stepped out, bringing her longsword around the way Fakse had taught her years before, and slashed the Dane across his back. 

Her blow injured this one, but not mortally. He fell, and she raised her sword for the killing blow—

—and was knocked to her knees, her breath gone, by a blunt blow to her back. She spun on her knees, forcing air into her lungs, through the pain, and tried to bring her sword up, but there were two Danes on her now, and one of them was the chieftain himself who blocked her while the shorter one hit her again, in the head this time, with his iron shield. 

Her vision fragmented into shards, and she fell back, unable to make her body move. Her shield fell from a hand that had gone slack. With the sense she had left, she prepared to meet the gods in Valhalla.

At her first chance, she would ask Odin if indeed she had been given the eye that he had sacrificed for wisdom, and, if so, why. Because she had not, in all her twenty years, felt a power worthy of such a gift. 

She had, however, felt its burden every day of her life. 

And then the great roar split the air.

The king giant caught her up in his arms before her knees had done more than buckle. A creature soaked in blood, a sword in his hands, dripping gore. 

She lifted her gaze to his face. She had to look up a long way. He stood a few inches over six feet, and every inch of the journey passed over solid muscle, from his long legs encased in woolen trousers and black leather boots cross-gartered with frayed leather, to his broad shoulders covered by a sleeveless chainmail tunic. Heavy bands of twisted silver encircled his powerful arms, and more silver adorned his gird. 

She couldn’t see his face clearly, couldn’t tell if he was dark or fair. An iron helmet covered most of his features, the nose guard, sharp curving sides and frowning onyx inlays above the brows creating a visage meant to terrify. From this fearsome mask glittered the eyes of mid-autumn leaves, a warm, reddish brown. And below the nose guard his mouth looked brutally hard. 

She didn’t move, closing her eyes until the world stopped spinning.

When she opened them again, he was staring down at her, and the world around them had gone quiet. She looked around — Danes and villagers were dead or captured. The air stank of offal. The man she’d wounded moaned, struggling to his knees; a villager drove his battleaxe into his back and ended his struggles. 

He had not released her, and Rey blinked and found him yet staring down at her. His face was bathed with blood, it dripped thickly from his beard, and his brown eyes glowed in that dark mask. She pulled away, but he seemed unwilling to let her go.

It had not occurred to her that he wanted her as a woman; no man ever had. Her eye and its supposed origin held them all at bay, even the men acclaimed for their brash courage. None would take the risk that they might be ensorcelled.

Rey gritted her teeth. If she was going to drown in those ore bog depths, she would drown with pride in tact. And crumpled between his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Jötnar — (YOH-tnar) a race of giants.


	6. The Sun and the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚔️Did you know there is a [phallological museum](https://phallus.is/en/) in Rey’s home of Iceland?
> 
> ⚔️Want to know what [Old Norse](https://youtu.be/_ASsCH17cbA) sounded like?
> 
>  **CW for** : Sexual assault/ attempted rape, murder.

He unsheathed _Fenrir_ , his sword named for the monstrous wolf of lore, the hilt of which was dight with silver, and the grip trimmed with silver; he had a úlfhéðnar’s helm on his head, and a black shield on his flank, with a knight painted on it in silver, ready to strike. Kylo moved forward with the soundless tread of a hunter. He had a dagger in his hand, as was the custom in foreign lands.

He was still several paces away when a soft ray of late-noon sunlight flashed through the dazzling haze of dust motes, bathing the figure before him in a brilliant circle of light. The maid hacked and lashed his clansmen with her sword, spilling their guts into the dirt, as though the warmth of the sun was bringing her to life. Slowly, so slowly she seemed to scarcely move, she lifted her head and stared straight at him.

He’d stopped, as if he’d run headlong into a wall; was barely aware of halting again, of lowering his sword. 

By the runes!

She was a creature of golden light. Magical. Her hair loose and lay in tumbled disarray around her shoulders, the color of deep, rich bronze. The flesh of her arms glowed a paler gold. And her eyes! Wide and slightly tilted at the outer corners, set in a face of such delicate beauty she seemed more of the stuff of long-ago dreams than reality, her eyes made him think of a wildcat he’d once cornered. It had gazed at him with that same golden fire, and he’d been unable to kill it. Unable to destroy the fierce pride of something so wild and free.

Then the sun slid past the volcanic peaks and ridges that rose majestically in the center of the island. He had heard many strange tales of this land others called _fire and ice._ Every hour they’d traveled, he tried to conjure in his mind some vision of this place. He got pretty close. He saw the trees and the water and the rolling hills. But he could not have foreseen so much... green! It was a magnificent and calming color. A balm for sea-salted eyes. The ray of light vanished, and he advanced on the magical golden creature, slaughtering all who withstood him. And as his eyes narrowed against the disappearing light, his comrade Poe struck off her helmet. 

And her extraordinary eyes, if they ever held fierceness, were now dull and lifeless.

The girl stared back at him, unmoved and unmoving. 

Uttering a soft curse, he came forward quickly, going down on one knee beside her and lifting a hand to brush her hair from her cheek. He cradled her against his chest, gazing down at the sweep of her lashes against her cheeks, the gentle curve of her mouth, and again felt that odd wrenching deep inside. And knowledge. A sure, irrevocable knowledge. 

His! This hurt, proud, recklessly courageous woman whom he had sought over land and sea in the face of so many dangers now beyond all expectations belonged to him.

He didn’t think past that. Shoved the other sensations to the back of his mind. They went too deep, to a place he hadn’t looked into for a very long time. Right now, he had more immediate problems on his hands. 

He watched her too long. She was quick to assess the slight easing of his hold. Light exploded before his eyes, flashing off his shield, blinding him. Dazed, he flung up a hand, stumbled. Her foot struck something hard, sending it clattering across the dirt. He faltered, trying to blink his vision clear. She might be beautiful, but she was also quick and cunning — and decidedly his enemy.

Mindless with terror, still half-dazed, she sprang for the woods. Sheer instinct made her swerve like a hunted deer, darting between a row of houses. Kylo groaned as he sat up; he saw her running away and vowed he would teach the Norse vixen to mend her ways and that right soon. His head throbbed as he searched for his weapon. He couldn’t find it anywhere and realized she had taken it.

He wasn’t just any warrior, he was an Úlfhéðnar, an elite warrior of Odin. Úlfhéðnar didn’t lose their weapons, especially to a _woman._

Footsteps thundered after her. Heavy breathing rasped through the air; she could almost feel it, hot on her neck. Rey ran as far as only her familiar old gnarled tree — the tree that had become a sanctuary to her when she was a child — her place of refuge. _I loved climbing up here. Made me feel as high as a raven._ Disregarding the fact that she was clothed in armor and struggling with the heavy Ulfberht sword, she hoisted herself up on the lowest branch. Then, she continued, up and up, until she was sitting high enough that she could see the whole of her lands spreading out before her like a giant green picnic blanket. Theirs was a beautiful and most bountiful kingdom for most, but now it was a scene of carnage. The day she had dreaded had finally come, even though she had always known she would be captured and killed. Rey God’s-Eye had a value to the Danes. To claim the woman they called the Dane-Slayer would bring great reputation. She would be whored out in a brothel.

 _Please, Freya,_ she prayed desperately to the goddess of her heart — goddess of love and magic — to whom she had long since given her devotion. _Deliver me from this cruelty. Deliver us all._

Yet she saw how these men, with their long, dark hair and merciless eyes, already inspected her and her companions and swept through the kingdom with fire and sword.

 _Courage._ She had little courage left, though, and could not imagine anything beyond this moment — did not want to imagine being taken by force to some stranger’s bed. 

Kylo was unaware that he was being followed. When he reached the edge of the woods, he slowed down. His eyes scanned the trees, seeking for any sign of traps or movement that might reveal a hidden enemy, but there was nothing to be seen. He took a few steps into the dark woods. 

“What have we here?” a soldier called out. 

Kylo swore and turned around. _Loki will enjoy humiliating me before my father._

“Where’s your weapon?”

“Well? Speak up, Dane!”

Kylo wasn’t about to admit his shame and reveal that he was after the coveted woman who had stolen his weapon.

“He looks like he’s about to fill his breeches!”

“This is our chance, Cut-Cheek. With him out of the way, it will give us the reputation of killing Kylo the Wren. And we’ll be free to take all the women and riches we want.”

“You’re right, Hausbrjótr. The honor shall be ours,” Cut-Cheek agreed.

Rey kept her eyes on Hausbrjótr and Cut-Cheek as they moved to surround the sullen man. Rey had heard of these men — Úlfhéðnar. Any Dane raiding party deserved fear and respect; one that included a Úlfhéðnar doubly so. The elite among warriors, they felt no pain and were unstoppable in battle. Madness seized them when they fought and sometimes when they did not. 

Rey had caught glimpses of this man in action during the attack on the fortress, and she shrank from him instinctively as he had approached. 

“Let’s kill the invader now. Do it quickly! Put his head on a spear.”

A rustling in the tree drew Kylo’s attention just before his sword fell on the ground, a foot away from him. He reached down and gripped it while they looked up at the tree. Before they realized what was happening, Hausbrjótr was grasping at the slash across his belly, doing his best to keep his innards from spilling out. He fell to his knees, shock still lining his face. He groaned as he fell forward. 

Kylo spun around and attacked Cut-Cheek. 

Cut-Cheek moved swiftly to his right as _Fenrir_ swung downward. Cut-Cheek kicked Kylo in the chest, sending him flying. With a battle cry, Cut-Cheek swung his battleaxe, aiming for Kylo’s head. Kylo rolled to his left and Cut-Cheek’s axe became lodged in a thick tree root. Kylo leaped to his feet and tackled Cut-Cheek. The men crashed to the ground. Kylo rolled off Cut-Cheek and reached for his sword. Cut-Cheek ran to his axe. He was still struggling to pull it out of the root when Kylo swung his sword, lopping off his head. It flew off and hit a nearby tree trunk before rolling away into the underwood.

Breathing heavily, Kylo flicked the blood off his weapon and held it casually in his hand. A high limb on the tree shimmied and then the one above it shook and so on as the foolish girl appeared to be climbing further up. He only caught glimpses of her leather-clad figure until it could move no higher. Her rump in a pair of leather trousers — which was all he could see at first — appeared to be quite round and well formed as it rested on a limb.

Lifting her fearful eyes to the Úlfhéðnar’s face, she found it contained no madness, at least not at the moment. Instead he looked quiet and composed. His eyes, trapped between black lashes, were clear as rainwater. One brow, dissected by a scar, sat askew. Other birthmarks speckled both cheeks. His plaits, black like the night, hung down to his shoulders, and he held his head with arrogance impossible to deny.

He gazed at her intently but did not attempt to grab her. His gaze traveled from the top of her head — now a tangled mass of light brown several shades darker than that of most her fellows — hesitated over her lips, and moved to her bosom and on down. 

Rey began trembling anew, violently this time, not from his regard but from what she sensed inside him or rather did _not_ sense — he held a complete void of emotion. Ja, she could tell much of those she encountered, often too much. For instance, Hausbrjótr and Cut-Cheek were known for their mistreatment of women. But he…

Was it the Úlfhéðnar madness that blocked his emotions from her? Some spell of magic? Usch, but she could not tell. 

“Congratulations on a great peasant revolt,” his voice hailed her from the ground below.

It was a deep voice that was nothing that she would have expected. First of all, it was like rough velvet. Second, it was almost… cultured. Intelligent.

_Mocking._

“Come down,” he demanded. “Do not make me come up after you.”

She knew she had no chance against him and still she could not rein in her quick tongue. “If you come up here, I’ll kick you down!”

“And I’ll chop off your foot if you try to kick me.”

“I’m not coming down. You have your weapon. Now, fuck off.”

He enjoyed bantering with the maid, which was surprising, given his temperament so far that day. There was a grumble. Things had not gone as planned in the village. And the wealth of the settlement was far less than what the men had expected on this fool’s errand, leaving him in a foul mood. But whenever _she_ appeared he was momentarily stunned into silence. The dash of freckles across her nose invited him in.

Her expression was fierce and unyielding as she clung to the branches above him — and for the first time in memory he became aroused, his manhood growing thick and heavy against his woolen leggings. He was not a man of lust. And he had no one else who cared for him. All of his passion burned away in the fighting fit. When it came, it scoured him — a far more merciless mistress than any female might prove.

Perhaps, but...

She was the only woman he had ever loved.

The realization washed over him in a single instant, a single chill that started at his fingertips and worked its way up his arms and on to the rest of his body. If he’d seen her once in the past few years, he might have recognized that love sooner. Or if he had allowed himself to even dream that such a sentiment was possible, he would have attributed it to her. But he tried to make himself forget her. It was easier to pretend she didn’t exist. If he didn’t think about being with her, he wouldn’t long for her. If he didn’t remember how it felt to fall into the maelstrom of her eyes, he wouldn’t have to face the reality that she wasn’t meant to be his. That he would never gaze upon her bravery again and his heart wouldn’t ache from the loneliness.

Only Kylo had never really stopped imagining her face. Every dream he’d ever had had become her in the black of night.

He couldn’t help but stare. His own father had never allowed women to become warriors back home. Though it wasn’t an unheard of custom, Kylo had never fought with one of the shieldmaidens that other Jarls allowed amongst their warriors. The ones he had seen hadn’t been particularly attractive, seeming to sometimes take on the crude and harsh appearance of men they fought beside. This Dane-slayer, however, was a beauty. Nei, the fairest he’d ever seen he realized. Her silky hair framed a face of indescribable prettiness. High cheeks, full lips and flashing green eyes that dominated a face of heartbreaking purity. But below her slender neck, things were another matter altogether. 

Even pressed against the rough bark as she was, he could see that the maid was all woman. Her firm high tits, narrow waist and graceful hips were made for rutting. She wore a dark brown tunic that reached mid-thigh, leaving her legs free for doing things such as climbing trees. The image brought back memories of her childhood frolics in this very forest. The precious sound of laughter dislodged the weight he carried in his chest. It had been years since he heard her laugh. He had forgotten how good it felt to hear it. He stood for a moment with his eyes closed as he let the images come to him: pelting one of her brothers with a snowball, lying in wait for them on a low-hanging branch as they looked for her and then tackling the biggest one (always the biggest one) to the ground, a mean boy boxing his ears when he’d called her a girl. But then their happy voices began to fade, so he followed to keep them within sight. His eyes flared as he took in those long, elegant legs. She wore a pair of high boots that laced up to her knees. What he wouldn’t give to wrap those around his ass as he — 

_Nei, nei, nei, nei —_ she began a litany in her mind. She fashioned her terror into a force and pushed at him. _Nei, please, nei._

The wind shifted and they caught a whiff of smoke. She turned to her village and saw large plumes of black smoke and bright orange flames.

“My people have set your village on fire. Once the flames die down, there will not be any place for you to live. The woods are dangerous. You cannot stay here.”

“I’ll take my chances in the woods.”

“Come down. They might burn the woods next. You will not be safe here.”

“I’m safer up here than down there with you.” From her perch on the large branch, she could see his cock straining against the front of his trousers. A peevish look on her unbelievably lovely countenance.

“Just a kiss then. I won’t plow you,” he promised. 

“Not interested.”

He barked out a laugh, already warming to the idea of taming her. “You know who I am. The skalds sing of me. Stern of eye and scant of mercy. Have you not seen the ravens feasting in my wake? You should be flattered.”

“Not a gnat’s dick. Your word-mangles make my hair ache.”

He’d been a fool not to recognize the depths of his feelings back then. But he’d also been a pup and what did pups know of love? He only knew that he had gone to her when his own life had become unbearable and she had offered him comfort. He didn’t quite understand what had compelled him to push her away. Perhaps it was because Snærr had been whispering poison in his ear and he didn’t want to face the inevitable danger and pain that would follow if her identity had been discovered. But he recognized now that she filled some place in him that had been empty without her and his life would be infinitely better with her in it. 

Deciding to change tactics, he asked her, “Why did you return my weapon?”

“They outnumbered you and it didn’t seem fair, especially since you were unarmed.”

“Be truthful. Were you hoping we would kill each other?”

“Ja.”

“Disappointed I’m still alive?”

Although she had found a kind of camaraderie among her fellows, people rarely spoke to her one on one, except to give orders, make requests, or negotiate for trade. She spent her winters alone. Rey didn’t know how to keep company. Not knowing what to say next, she said nothing. 

“Come down, and I swear I won’t harm you,” he said, undeterred by her reticence. “I haven’t broken an oath yet.”

The amber eyes blazed, but her anger appeared to leave him unmoved. “Just take your plunder and leave our village, you níðingr! Pig’s fart!”

“I am many things and I reward good behavior. So I’ll explain this as simply as I can. You are mine now. Your village rebelled and failed. I lost many men and now I’m going to take what’s _mine_.”

“I am not _yours_ to claim,” she spat at him in disgust. “I will never belong to any of your Danish filth!”

Whatever softness she might have imagined in his eyes, vanished beneath a black scowl that turned her blood to ice and put an instant end to her outburst. _Gods protect me,_ she thought, and pulled back against the tree. He raised his sword in a slow arc until it pointed straight at her heart, thumping madly like a war drum, and foreboding washed over her. At the same time, an unfamiliar feeling left her unsettled. He needed to go away so she could think clearly.

“We shall see, little maid. You cannot quarrel your way out of destiny.”

Kylo left the woods whistling, knowing she would not come down until she was fully satisfied he had really gone. A tragedy he wouldn’t be there as her tunic pulled up, allowing him a view of those rounded curves in her trousers as she dropped from the tree. His men were already moving among the bodies of the slain, collecting weapons and armor along with any valuables they might find. The fighting had been fierce while it lasted — the villagers had put up a brave defense even though they were heavily outnumbered. He admired courage and it had been shown here this day. Their hersar had fallen and many besides, but a goodly number had been taken prisoner. They stood roped together under heavy guard. From their sullen expressions, he knew them unbowed, though they feared for their lives even now. It was well. It meant they would do nothing foolish. He had no intention of shedding anymore blood for he would need able hands to work these lands in future. However, it would not hurt his cause to leave them in doubt a while longer. 

The townswomen had gathered up their squalling babes, apparently unharmed and being comforted by frightened Alban and Irish thralls, and were taken off towards the hall with the injured to be treated. At best the treatment of the Danes’ wounds was crude and spartan on board ship, but Kylo prided himself on never having lost a wounded man on a voyage. There had to be those among the Norsewomen versed in healing. It was easy enough. Jackdaw wagered the Goði would know. He was right. Two minutes was all Jackdaw needed to elicit the information. Hearing the names, they were identified and put to work. He produced a pot of sheep’s fat, and pulling aside the Warlord, threw it to him. 

“Take care of yourself, Lord,” Jackdaw said curtly. It was when he turned that Kylo saw what he meant. 

Not that he enjoyed raiding nor, in truth, battle of any kind. Difficult to enjoy what one did not remember. 

Ja, he recalled parts of a journey: the sea voyage, arming himself, and going ashore. He recalled first sighting their target and choosing his opponent. After that, it became all fire and darkness — bright darkness, if he could warrant such a thing. When the madness took him, it took him completely. He heeded no injuries and felt no pain. Only when he came to after did he feel the sting — and that, too, he remembered. 

But he did not get his wounds treated as ordinary men, at least not at the outset. He could not be seen to bear injury like the others. While away at viking, his wounds were dressed perfunctorily by the steward Thorkel, and once at home he went to his mother for tending, as for the potions that saturated his life. 

His mouth curled into a bitter grimace as he began spreading the evil-smelling salve. When he reached the group around his sword brothers, he took in the scene at a glance.

“We shall rest here long enough to burn the dead and tend our wounded. Then the sea dragons sail home.” A rousing cheer tore from the throats of the assembled men. He held up a fist for silence. “I give thanks for victory and ask forgiveness for taking so many lives.”

“O, Wren, your Christian talks bore me to death. Have a laugh, we won!” yelled Hrungnir.

“And I take no pleasure in it, Hrungnir.”

“The fortunes of war,” Hooknose paused, smiling faintly. Kylo darted angry looks left and right, but could find no support. “Strong and noble warriors indeed...” A glance at the weathered out-buildings told him what he needed to know. King Ozur was careless with the hamlet. Thatched roofs grey with mold. A leaning palisade fence. No warrior standing at the gate. The thieving Norseman didn’t spend his coin here. “But blinded by their loyalty to a pampered and vulturous king, which made them a liability. Ones which we were reluctant to exploit, but we had no choice, due to malicious rumors that were being spread.” A chorus of agreement greeted this.

“We were made for this, Lord. The song of swords, the blood-mist, the bone-crunching and baring of teeth,” added Hrungnir.

“Is this enough blood paid, Hrungnir? We’ve spilled enough to slake the thirst of _Fenrir._ ”

“Why stop there?”

Kylo looked around for his hersir. “Poe, I would know your mind in all this. Are you satisfied with our victory?”

“I believe I am. They wanted to make themselves heroes, My Lofðungr,” said a voice. All heads turned in the direction of the speaker and the men fell silent, parting to let Poe enter. “You are descended from the Deer and the Wolf. You are the Order Unleashed Within Chaos.”

“It is peace we want. Not revenge. If none of you can accept that—”

“Why did you leave home if you intended to stand idle?” asked Hrungnir of his lord. Murmurs of agreement greeted his words. “Help one side or the other and find out what _Fenrir_ can do.”

“Enough talk of killing! I need a moment of calm,” shouted Kylo.

“You need mead.”

“No, Hrungnir. True calm. A walk in the woods to clear the air. Or...” Kylo’s attention was drawn from his troubled thoughts by a woman’s scream, followed by a heavy blow. The scream sliced through him with the ice-cold kiss of a naked blade. Before he heard the sound of cloth tearing, he was already making his way through a crowd of men, roaring as if charging into battle. Shoving them aside, he saw a big, hairy scarlet-wearing Dane straddling a woman trying to pull away as he slipped and twisted a large coarse rope around and between her wrists. He didn’t know him by name; he was not of his clan. The jarl he served had allied with them for this raiding season, and they had all converged the day they’d embarked. This man raided for the other jarl.

He didn’t like this jarl Brondolf Flame-Hair, or his son Arnmundur, who believed he was leading this raid. Both men were brutal leaders and had fostered brutality among their clan. King Hannes, his father, to whom Kylo had long ago sworn fealty, would not have allowed the savagery that had gone on today. He would have taken the captives, ja. He would have taken all the survivors as captive, in fact, not slaughtered women, children, and old ones and left them to rot in the dirt. Hannes would not have taken them slaves for trade, but as subjects. And he would not have made the women work. He would not have left them to the violent whims of men drunk on bloodlust.

But Hannes had allied with Jarl Brondolf for this raid and many more to come, a mistake he’d regret, and Brondolf’s son had been made leader over all the raiders. Kylo hadn’t understood the alliance, but once they’d arrived and moved so far inland, and now that Kylo, he the glory hound, had taken the rescue for himself, so that the victory song was always written about him, he thought he understood better. This was no mere raid. More was happening.

He knew not what, and it wasn’t his place to know. He followed his mother. Freemen had a voice, and often a vote, in clan decisions, including raids, but to go against the Jarls was dangerous business. Kylo had never seen a reason to take a risk like that.

There had been one reason he had been glad to know they were allying with King Ozur: Reynhildur God’s-Eye fought for him. She had changed Kylo’s life, and he had thanked the gods for the chance to tell her so. 

Her name was known far and wide. The shieldmaiden who bore the eye of the Allfather, the girl who had been born into nothing and then had been honored when she singlehandedly saved the king’s wife and children during a failed insurrection.

The stories varied in the details, whether she had fought five men or ten, whether she had fought them off with one of their own swords or with a spit from the cooking fire. But the stories all said that she fought with the power of all gods. They said she glowed. They said she rose up like a giant above her foes and drove them to the ground.

He knew the stories to be true. He remembered the small girl who had saved him, who had faced his beast of a master down and sent him skittering away with only the power of her voice and her fantastic eye.

And now, with his own two unremarkable eyes, he had seen her fight. She did glow. She did rise up above her enemies and smite them down. But not with magic.

With inner fire. With will. With spirit.

Such a marvelous creature she was.

Hatred surged through her — not the first such wave he had felt since this horror began — and lent her the strength she needed to fight back. The laces of her jerkin had been sliced and he was groping her breasts as she fought him off most dexterously, driving him back several paces. However, very soon greater size and maneuverability began to tell and then it was her who was forced back until she tripped over a tree root and fell hard against the ground. She crawled backward, but her back hit a tree. She was trapped.

“Beg for mercy, vixen!”

The girl spat at him. She knew he would defile her now, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, or hearing her plead. The men around him cheered as he struck her again. Her eyes flew to Kylo’s face, recognizing her instantly.

“By Odin, what a beauty!”

“Ja, look at those tits!” 

Suddenly darkness, merciful darkness, flooded the edges of her vision. All she could see were the brute’s eyes surrounded by a dark cloud. Or perhaps she sensed his spirit.

“Answer,” he demanded when she did not speak. “Had you a husband? Are you tried?” 

Ah, so he wanted to plunder a virgin, this brute with his narrowed eyes and inherent cruelty — the man who leapt into her path, a woman alone out here with no weapon. Had spread his arms, laughing, his mouth a gaping maw in an unkempt beard. For he possessed a brutal face, and Rey picked up on the emotions that filled him — an ugliness as casual as it was powerful. In his gaze, she found no hint of mercy. As had the other pursuer behind her, the one who had let out the bloodcurdling yell of a hunter. Gasping for breath, she dodged again.

The darkness lightened a bit as a hundred images flooded Rey’s mind. _To the sunlight dancing on the water and the waves caressing the shore, to Fakse with her loud laughter, Ljúfvina with her gentle strength. To Freya, Freya, Freya—_

With a growl of rage, Kylo kicked the man in the face. His head snapped back as he flew off her. Her attacker moaned on the ground. _Fenrir_ struck him downward from shoulder to groin. As blood ran from the Dane’s mouth, the sense of what had happened sunk in, and he would say no more. Slowly, deliberately, Kylo returned his face to the men. Several were on their feet, wolves closing in on a prey they knew was weak and helpless.

The men had now fallen silent. “Is that the measure of Dane manhood?” he demanded, shifting his glare to the girl’s bruising flesh. “To beat a woman until she’s senseless. Where is your honor?!” he growled before he could stop himself. And then he wondered why in the Nine Realms was he explaining this to a bunch of nithings. “Where is your compassion for the smaller man?! Where is your respect?!”

An uneasy memory of a vow of revenge against the Hut King and men like him that had been sworn on the blood of betrayal eight years ago. A vow that went to the very heart of Dane honor.

“Fucking vermin,” he snarled at the corpse. “You think gelding is such a desirable fate that you’d risk arousing me to achieve it?”

Since then, no one had seen Kylo strike anyone other than warriors who were his equal in battle. But it took no great leap of logic to see by wresting the Golden Maiden from the Norsemen as a means by which he could obtain his first crowning achievement for their kingdom. Even if it meant going against his own nature.

And if that happened, Kylo decided grimly, they wouldn’t need a seer to see dangerous shoals ahead.

He glared at them across her bound body. They shuffled, stepped back. Discomfort and wary acknowledgement replaced the avid purpose in their eyes. Several even looked sheepish, the expression sitting incongruously on rugged, weather-beaten faces.

Without another word, Kylo met each pair of eyes in turn.

They backed off again, unwilling to challenge Kylo for his bride. 

He turned around to face Rey, who held her jerkin together as she sat up. Holding her arms, he carefully pulled her upright, glancing around, searching for a hut that had not been destroyed. She tried wrenching out of his hold and staggered as the relentless throbbing of her eyes sent a wave of sickness through her. The Úlfhéðnar’s grip tightened until she could feel the throb of blood beneath his fingers as she struggled to hold onto her outraged chastity. Freya, he was strong. Those powerful hands could snap her in two in a heartbeat. But… he wasn’t hurting her. His hands felt protective… and utterly steady. As if he knew she couldn’t stand alone, that she was summoning every ounce of willpower to stay conscious.

She lifted her lashes and gazed up into eyes blazing as he dragged her towards the shaggy silhouette of a dwelling just ahead.

Their dwellings looked as if they had sprang up from native soil, but it had been constructed of turf and sod, not stone. Green grass grew over the roof, and the side walls stood but knee high. Kylo ducked his head to follow her through the small door and entered the house. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness that was relieved by the open door, which thunked behind them, a perpetual small fire and small aperture in the roof for smoke. The interior of the house was much simpler than his home in Danmark, yet the setup was still familiar. 

She eyed him with fear as he stepped toward her. _Fenrir_ made quick work of the rope binding her wrists. The killing rage was leaving him, but he still had to force a gentler note to his voice when he saw the red streaks encircling her wrists.

“I have yet to meet a warrior who could disarm me so easily and no man in my village would dare defy me.”

Rey’s eyes widened when she looked down at his abdomen and saw blood seeping through his mailshirt. She immediately felt her magic growing inside of her — the need to heal overpowering her self-preservation. 

She looked up at him and pleaded with her eyes as she spoke. “Please, do not tell anyone about this. Pretend it was a dream if you must. You.” She pointed at him. “You never saw this.”

She lifted his tunic and placed her hand over the wound. 

He hissed and spoke through clenched teeth. “If I was going to have a dream about you, Princess, I would not be injured, and you would have considerably less clothing on.”

She pressed a little harder than necessary and took satisfaction in his grunt of pain. Then she pushed the outside world away and focused her energy on the wound. The chant rose in her mind, and she spoke it without thought.

“Wounded flesh, damaged skin,  
Feel my power, let me in.  
Let my light heal you,  
My energy fill you.  
Veins that carry life,  
Rejoin the cut,  
Relieve the pain and strife.”

She felt the healing power flowing into him, but that was not all she felt. There, just beyond the wound, was a chord — gold and thick. It seemed to be reaching for her magic, coaxing her powers to itself. She felt herself wanting to respond, and she did. But the minute her light touched the chord, an overwhelming emotion assailed her. She pulled her hand away as if she had been burned. She looked up at him. Being so close to him only emphasized how much larger he was. She had grown up surrounded by big men; her own father possessed both height and breadth. The Norsemen of her stock used their size and bulk to intimidate. This Dane was no different. As she had in the tree, Rey tried to plumb him with the inner sense that usually served her so well. Again she failed, meeting only a baffling jumble of shadow and deeper darkness. Was it because he was a Úlfhéðnar? Or was it the fault of her terror? Her dread? She did not like feeling intimidated and in the past had always held her head high. Daughter of warriors and eye of the gods — what did she have to fear?

This — she feared this. This man, a stranger, would now throw her down onto her back and wrest by force what she did not want to give.

Her eyes were wide, and her mouth probably looked as though she was going to drop to the floor. 

She pulled her hand from under his shirt and stepped back. Her eyes never left his. After a few moments, the shock from the golden chord left her, and she looked around. It was then that she realized that he didn’t seem amazed about by what she had done. In fact, it was almost as if he had been aware she had such a power. 

Her heart pounded sickeningly, and she swayed where she stood, hands fisted at her sides. She resolved to fight, whatever the consequences. 

And what if he went into the maddened state of the wolf when she resisted him… what then? Would he kill her in his rage?

She took another step back when he made a move to close the distance between them. His dark eyes glowed with something that looked dangerously near to possessive desire. Despite being cornered like a rat, she felt everything inside her melt at the sight of it. Her body betrayed her at the first hint of this strange sensation. While she said nothing, she secretly wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to ensure that she was safe and well. She wanted him to hold her and tell her everything would be fine. She wanted him to shelter her from the storm she had found herself in. And for that reason, she dodged as he advanced upon her. For every step that she took in retreat, his larger strides brought him closer. Then there was nowhere left to run. Her back thumped soundly up against the sturdy sod of the far wall just as powerful hands closed around her waist.

The breath escaped her in a tremulous gasp. 

The scent of him filled her lungs, a dark blend of warrior and raw lust that made the world tilt and reel around her, leaving her dazed and trembling. 

Rey would have surely collapsed if he had not pressed himself closer to her, crushing overly sensitive nipples and heaving breasts against the unforgiving bulwark of his chest. 

Holding her trapped against his body, he raised one broad palm to cup her cheek and neck, shocking her with his gentleness as he tilted her face to meet his gaze. 

“I am no threat to you, Rey God’s-Eye,” he spoke in a rumbling growl that vibrated straight down to the bundle of throbbing nerves between her legs.

He pulled her into his arms. He held her against him, stroking her hair gently. A morass of conflicting emotions shattered across her heart. 

“I mean you no harm. Did I not save your life today?”

Her lips parted as she fought to find words, to even breathe beneath the firestorm of excitement and wonder that now threatened to consume her. She was forced to close her eyes and shake her head in a last attempt of understanding.

“You saved me once,” he said, close enough that she felt the breath of his words on her face.

Rey opened her eyes and met his. She was sure that she had never fought with him in the shield wall before, and she was sure she had not saved him before today. 

“I think not.”

She scowled, but he gently soothed the expression away with a caressing brush of his fingertips. And then he stuck his tongue out at her. 

She was about to pull away, offended, when her eyes dashed to the long, jagged scar on his cheek. 

The boy in the woods, all those years ago. The first time she ever felt the fire of battle rage. That, she remembered, and remembering, she recognized his brown eyes.

But he had been like all the others — fearful, even as she gave him aid.

“You were afraid of me.”

“I was young and stupid and under the thumb of a stupider man. I’m sorry for that.”

“Why? Everyone is afraid. I am Rey God’s-Eye.”

“You are. And magnificent eyes they are. Why be afraid of a gift like that? It seems to me a great honor.”

Rey looked away. She didn’t want it to be true. It wasn’t true. She was nothing special, and she didn’t want to be. They said her valor as a shieldmaiden came from her eye. It did not. It came from her heart. She wasn’t magical; she was strong.

But none of that mattered. People believed what they wanted to believe. Rey sighed. There had been a moment, just a flash, when she’d felt something new with this man. He’d treated her like a person. But he was the same as the rest, even if he no longer feared her.

“You saved me. More than my tongue. I left that day and returned to my kinfolk, and my life has honor it would have never known had I stayed. I wanted you to know that. I wanted to give you thanks. I am Warlord of Skywalker, Bengeirr Jóhannsson, and my sword is at your service...”

He hesitated once more, firelight leaping in his eyes. The jerkin had fallen away. The remainder of her cloth tunic was sheer and clinging to her body from sweat. All breath escaped Kylo’s body in a rush, leaving him so lightheaded he swayed where he stood. Pink orbs stared at him through the dress. His mouth watered for a taste. What a feast she was. Her body curved just right. She was slender, and her breasts were the perfect handful. He imagined himself sucking on them and nipping them, marking them as his. 

A deep thunder rolled in his chest with the urge to claim hit him hard. It was like fate sculpted her out of his wildest dreams. “Your village has been destroyed. You won’t be safe here. Without a clan, you have nothing and nobody.”

She didn’t fight him. Not quite. Not this time. The raging madness she felt wasn’t just madness, but passion so strong it seemed unattainable to have. “I don’t need protecting,” she said, with defiance and her chin up in the air, but she came closer, pushing her breasts against his chest and teasing the puffs of her breath against his lips.

“I know,” he muttered to her, moving forward, ever so slowly. 

Warriors after a battle were a wild lot. Rey understood the fiery need for violent release that simply didn’t end when the targets ran out. She felt it, too. Other shieldmaidens might mate with a comrade, if that was their wont. It wasn’t possible for Rey, and she didn’t know if she would have partaken if it had been. The rutting she saw was brutal and vile, even among comrades, and it stirred her not at all.

As the men fell upon her sisters, Rey would escape into the woods, her scabbard and shield on her back. She closed her mind to the wails and screams of pleasure behind her and ran until she heard them no more.

Killing she understood. The violence of a raid fed something in her that was always hungry.

“Let me help you.” She started to argue, but she took one of her small hands in his and shook his head at her. 

“You will let me care for you. It is my honor, and you must let me do this. Understand?”

After several heartbeats, she finally shrugged. It wasn’t like she could possibly humiliate herself anymore.

He moved quickly and efficiently to the firepit and then set a metal pitcher full of water into the hot coals. He glanced at his charge and saw that she was playing with a piece of hair that had fallen forward. This gave him an idea, an appropriate action to kill the time while they waited for the water to heat. He walked over to a table and opened a drawer. A small hand glass and comb sat neatly inside. He took the comb and walked over to her. He gently moved her forward and climbed onto the bench behind her. It was a recessed area, filled with straw, covered with a linen sheet. A heavy wool blanket lay on top of the sheet. She offered no resistance. He pulled her back toward him so that she was sitting in between his legs. He pulled out the ties that held her hair in place and gently untwined the braid. The dark strands of hair ran through his fingers, feeling like a cascade of silk. For some reason, being allowed to touch her hair, to care for her in such a way, felt even more intimate to him than a kiss.

“Does this please you?” he asked her, not wanting to take liberties she wasn’t willing to give.

She sighed and let her head fall back. “Mmm,” she answered a tad breathlessly. At least she wasn’t shaking anymore. Her trembles had broken his heart. His face was hot with shame. Desire leeched out of him as if it had never been.

“Your hair is beautiful. Just like the rest of you.”

She let out an un-lady like snort. “Ja, I’m sure I’m quite a sight to behold right now.”

“You are always a sight to behold, Rey. You light up a room when you walk into it. The fire in your eyes can dance with mirth, or cut down a man quicker than a sword. You hold yourself with confidence, yet there is no judgment in your eyes when you look at others. And you’re humble despite these things.” He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with how he knew these things, but after having been treated the way Jarl Brondolf’s men had treated her, he felt it was important for her to know she was a woman of worth. 

“I’m not really sure what to say to that,” she admitted. 

“You don’t have to say anything, Princess. Just accept it as truth.”

She held his gaze; cursed if she did not believe him. 

_Thank you, Freya._

He combed her hair while she wore nothing but scraps. It sounded terrible when she thought about it. And it would certainly look terrible to an outsider. But the gesture was completely innocent on both their parts. Regardless, Rey would never be able to admit that it happened to anyone. She was sure her shield sisters would faint where they stood if they happened upon them, and Fakse would’ve started singing a chorus praising Odin.

Rey herself was about to curl up into a ball like a well-loved kitten. After having had those pigs’ repugnant hands on her, the Warlord’s hands were like a cleansing rain, washing away the filth of the memories that were attempting to overwhelm her. She was sinking into the pit of her mind, sure that nothing would ever be the same again. Then he had come. He’d come and rescued her, pulling her from the mire of her thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” Kylo asked as he stood and retrieved the pitcher he’d left heating in the fires’ embers. He poured the steaming water into a small wash basin and picked up a hand towel that was resting on the table beside the bed. 

“Nothing,” she lied.

He paused after wringing the water from the towel. 

He sat down in front of her this time and reached up with the warm cloth. He pressed it to her face, and her eyes closed of their own accord as he began to wipe away the evidence of the fight. She still couldn’t get over how his touch was surprisingly gentle for a large man. His hands were probably more familiar with handling a sword than a woman’s skin. But his movements were slow and confident. His face held a level of concentration that Rey knew from experience was not needed to accomplish such a task as wiping a face clean. But he seemed determined to do a thorough and proper task. Her lips turned up in a smile at her thoughts.

“What?” he asked as he pulled back slightly to look down at her.

She shook her head as her smile grew wider. “I was just thinking about how hard you were concentrating on your task.”

He chuckled but didn’t look the least embarrassed. “I believe if you’re going to do something, no matter what it may be, then you should always do it to the best of your capability.”

“Even washing a face?”

His own lips tilted in a roguish smile. “Certainly when washing the face of such a beautiful female.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Beautiful, huh? And what if she’s not beautiful?”

He frowned. “Now why would I be cleaning the face of another female? And further, an ugly one?” 

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed at the seriousness in his voice and the utter dismay in his eyes. Though he could tell she was teasing, he seemed so appalled at the notion that it was comical. 

“Forgive me, my lord, for assuming you would lower yourself to such a task,” she said in her best aghast voice.

“Well, Lady, see to it that you do not assume such ridiculous notions again.” He paused with a stern look, but then his eyes softened, and his mouth returned to its flirty grin. He tapped her on the end of her nose playfully. “I shall always do this for you,” he murmured.

Her breath caught as she watched the playfulness fade from his eyes only to be replaced by something else, something much more consuming. He set the towel down and shifted closer to her. Her mind was screaming at her to back away. This was not her man, this was not even a man she would be allowed to marry. He was a strongly muscled warrior of Valhalla, a lord of a royal army. Her station was below his and yet she was one of the most honorable women he’d ever met.

As his face moved closer to hers, she motioned toward the wardrobe directly behind him. There should be something in there. She searched until she found a tunic and a pair of skin trousers. As much as he liked the idea of her naked, Kylo kept his back to her as she dropped the tatters to the floor and slipped the too-large tunic over her head. She tugged it down her body until it fell past her knees, and she was decent again. He had another thing coming if he thought she was going with him. Even if he did make her float on the clouds. She didn’t want to belong to anyone. Just the thought of leaving him made a hole appear in her heart, but the only person she needed was herself. Her worst nightmare was being caged, like a wild animal, not being able to have control of her own life, and answering to a man that wanted to only dictate her?

_Over my dead body._

He kissed her forehead, “Come, my princess,” he whispered. And a pang of guilt shot into her heart knowing that in a few moments, she wouldn’t be here. He hadn’t treated her badly, not at all. He was the very man she always dreamt of having, but not like this, not to be traded like some cheap, worthless object just so he could obtain power.

It hurt that he would do that, but it hurt even more knowing she wouldn’t wake up to see his intense brown eyes staring at her with so much lust, it made her body hot and her kunta wet. Trying to remember the entire reason for her flight, she settled her feelings for him and heard the door open as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Úlfhéðnar — (OOLF-hyeh-nar) a special class of berserkers who took the wolf as their symbol. They were known to be _hamrammir_ (shape shifters), especially ferocious and in some sagas are identified as Odin’s elite warriors.
> 
> Níðingr — (NEETH-ing-uhr) a term for a social stigma implying the loss of honor and the status of a villain, coward, or outlaw. A vile person
> 
> Goði — (GAA-thee) (plural Goðar) a priest and chieftain. _Gyðja_ being the feminine term for priestess. Goðar were heathen priests and in many ways the spiritual authority. Additionally, there were also _Hofgoði_ (temple priests). Their responsibility was to maintain the _hofs_ (communal halls) in which spiritual ceremonies and feasts were conducted. After the Christian conversion, the term Goðar lost its sacred context and came to mean chieftain. However, there is another aspect to the Goði. Typically, the Goði was the one who performed the communal rites. _Blóts_ (religious sacrifices, ceremonies), _Sumbels_ (feasts, banquets) and other relative rituals were a few examples of this. It was a role of spiritual authority (not to be confused with superiority), a practitioner who could channel the energies of the Gods in ritual work. The role was a very spiritual role and as such did require that magical aspect. Frequent mention is made of magical arts, as practiced by witches ( _völva, fjölkunnigkona_ ) or more rarely by men ( _fjölkunnigr madr_ ). The art itself is generally called _fjölkyngi_ (much knowledge), or _fródleikr_ (wisdom, learning). There are also persons who have the second-sight (are _ófreskir_ ) or have supernatural strength ( _rammaukin_ ), or who can change their shape ( _hamrammr_ ). These _vitkar_ (sorcerers that worked with the runes) walked between all the worlds but the Goðar were working more specifically with Asgard and Midgard.
> 
> Kunta — female genitals.


	7. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I research the magical country of Iceland, its geography and people, the more I fall in love with it. In one survey, about 54% of the population still believes in _nisse_ or [elves](https://youtube.com/watch?v=Nobw8fXgzTQ) and have raised little villages with churches and gardens for them. And it’s always best not to upset them. Those who have done so in the past have paid the price. So, as the Icelanders, say......
> 
> RESPECT THE ELVES OR ELSE 🧝♀️🧝♂️

_They’ll destroy you, inside and out. Don’t let them catch you! Run. Run!_

Fakse’s final words echoed through Rey’s mind as she tore through the brambles.

~oOo~

“Lady, I’m afraid I have one more demand and it’s non-negotiable.” Kylo shifted his booty to a more comfortable position and sidestepped around a burning chunk of thatch as they came out of Sturla’s alehouse.

Rey looked truly defeated, “What could you possibly ask of us now?”

“Ja, just one more _small_ requirement and your people will be rid of me and my men forever.” He paused and stated sternly, “You must accompany me when I take leave.”

“Drinker of sheep’s piss! Has your mind fled you? You act as though you are possessed by the spirit of another.”

When their neighbors received the news that the fortress was under siege by a foreign army, a rescue party would arrive, honor-bound, willing and able to provide encouragement and support. Kylo walked with ground-eating strides over to Rey, took her arm, looking at her as if she were an unruly child, and practically stole her off her feet with everything else of value as he headed for his ship. 

“My mind is my own. You have no good reason to deny me. My coffers are glutted. You can take any coin you wish. Along with all these silks and furs. Just… a good life… for a girl who has nothing,” he shuffled to a halt. “Am I being very unfair? Have I misjudged your soul? It can all be arranged.”

Rey couldn’t believe her ears. He had been watching her all afternoon. She had talked with him, drank with him, even laughed with him. But go away with him? This was intolerable.

“I understand that your men can and probably _will_ kill everyone here at your command dare I refuse, but I must tell you I cannot go with a stranger, a sea-king with half a dozen ships under his command.”

“All earned on my own. I had been sent to sea for the first time when I was just a lad, in the company of my uncle. With my maternal grandfather’s finest men, I have crossed endless seas and rivers and vast lands. I have sailed the Dnieper, entered into the gates of Miklagard, and learned the ways of the Moslem princes. I have come to know different cultures and peoples, and countless wonders, by conquest and by barter. Things I will one day show you. What do you say to that?”

Rey came out of her reverie and noticed Kylo was looking at her. “I say… How does one earn such a powerful song coming out of a drop of feathers…?”

“Wren is what they call the little brown bird in the villages of the north. It’s what my master used to call me. Tell me. Do you know the story of the wren… or the contest among the birds to see who could fly highest and be crowned king of them all? The eagle won, of course… until… the tiny little bird… that had hidden under its feathers jumped out… flew higher.”

“I didn’t say the mighty little bird wasn’t cunning.”

“And sharper than a Norseman’s arrow.”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Only if you compose níðvisur about me any further.”

“Then… I must watch my words.”

Kylo was sure she hated him with a blind fury, but one of his large hands cupped her cheek. Rey had to force herself to breathe so she didn’t pass out. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t even want to blink for fear she would miss something, or that he would suddenly disappear and she would suddenly come to realize this whole thing had been a dream. His lips were inches from her own when he spoke again. 

“Lady, I’m going to need you to tell me to back off.” His voice was deep and rough. 

Rey’s blood felt as though it were heating in her veins, and her heart felt as though it were going to beat up out of her throat. She swallowed and licked her dry lips, not missing the way his eyes followed the movement. 

“And if I do not want to tell you to back off?” Rey asked, knowing she was playing with fire. Apparently, she liked the idea of being burned, because she was not about to push him away.

“Then we are both in trouble.”

“Why is that?” Her voice sounded breathless, and she thought maybe she should be embarrassed over the sound, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she could see were those intense eyes and full lips. All she could think about was how badly she wanted those lips on hers. She wanted them to replace the memory of those foul men and give her the chance to have a man kiss her with passion — real, raw passion.

“Because I’m planning on kissing you. I have no willpower to stop, nor do I have the desire to stop. So, unless you tell me right now that you don’t want this, I am going to kiss you.”

She simply stared back at him, waiting, practically daring him to do what he was threatening. Good thing the man didn’t back down from a challenge, because she might have taken the choice from him if he hadn’t acted when he did.

“So be it,” he whispered before he slipped his hand around the nape of her neck and pulling her toward him.

Her eyes closed, and the breath rushed out of her as his warm lips pressed to her own. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of possession and want, desire and need. It was a kiss that would ruin a woman for any other man after him. It was the type of kiss that every woman should have as her first.

She felt his mouth part, and his tongue press against her lips, demanding entrance. She’d never willingly kissed a man in such a way, and, had it been anyone else, she thought undoubtedly she would have hesitated. She didn’t hesitate with Kylo. This man, who had appeared to her in a daydream, a nightmare, years ago when she was a child and declared himself her guide to adventure, had captured her attention from the first look. He’d driven her crazy and made her furious and needy in the same breath, and protected her without worry for his own safety. She opened her mouth and moaned when she felt the heat of his tongue touch her own. 

Why in Midgard weren’t people kissing all the time? That was what kept running through her head. If this is what it felt like to really be kissed by someone who you desired and who desired you, then why were people doing anything else besides kissing? _Silly and childish thought._ Probably, but then the accusers weren’t the ones having their mouths ravaged by a handsome rogue. When that happened to them, then they could judge her on her thoughts about kissing every minute of every day for the rest of all time. 

His hand tightened on her neck, and his other hand landed on her waist and pulled her closer. She had to remind herself that they were out in plain view, because she desperately wanted to wrap her arms around him, but that would have been damning to her reputation if someone were to come along.

Kylo’s deep rumble only caused her to open her mouth wider and push closer to him, as though she could simply crawl right inside of him to be as close as possible. She craved his heat. She needed his touch at any moment, she was truly afraid she was going to start rubbing up against him the way Princess Astrid’s cat, Sir Siggy “Sababy” Meowskles, rubbed against anything that got close to him.

She ran her tongue against the roof of his mouth and was rewarded with a deep chuckle. She did it again in hopes that he would do it one more time. He did. She had no idea how much time passed when he finally pulled back. Her lips were slick and swollen, and her breathing sounded as though she’d run from the stables to the hearth and back again.

Kylo looked down into her eyes, and she was afraid to put words to the emotions she saw there. She felt it, too, but it was much too soon — not to mention forbidden. She knew she should hate this man with everything in her heart and soul. She could not fall for him. She couldn’t… and yet she was pretty sure she already had. 

For Kylo, there were very few times in his life when he had the wind knocked out of him, and it’d never happened when he wasn’t in a fight. “Thank you,” he said softly as the back of his hand caressed her warm cheeks.

“For what?” 

His eyes crinkled at the sides as he smiled. “For allowing me the honor of sampling your charms.”

Rey knew her flushed skin only got darker, because his words sounded so much more provocative than he probably meant them to be.

He winked at her.

Well, maybe he had meant them just as provocatively as they’d sounded. The scoundrel. 

Rey belched. “Ooh! You will excuse me. Would it be completely unladylike if I said it was my pleasure?” she asked him.

He chuckled. “I would consider it the highest compliment.”

They stared at one another in what Rey could only describe as awed silence. Their eyes ran over each other’s faces, and his hands continued to pet her — her face, her back, and her sides. He was stirring up desire in her like a man stoking a fire. Rey should have told him to stop, Loki, they needed to stop, and yet she could not get her lips to cooperate with her brain. How could she go back to treating him like just an enemy? How could she ever return to the way things had been? 

She thought she could grit her teeth and do what she needed for her kingdom. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead and, for the first time in her life, she felt cherished. He backed away from her. She felt cold at his sudden retreat and fought her urge to reach out and snatch him back to her side.

For the time being, Kylo’s attention was lost on watching the men roll casks of honey and wine and flour into the ship. “You kissed her,” Poe accused, as four men passed them carrying a beautifully carved chest. “And you think that’s what the Gods ordered? Because what? For Thor’s sake, Kylo, what do you have in mind for her? Imprisonment?”

“Why is that any of your business?”

Poe’s eyes narrowed. “You will be no use to us if you get yourself killed by that crazy ass of a female.”

His words rang true. He was playing with the sharp side of a sword and expecting not to get cut. But what else was he supposed to do? His woman could not be dishonored, and truly, she should not have to spend the rest of her life with him. He was crazed. He could not believe that the other men had not picked up on his madness. Perhaps they had and had chosen to ignore it, but he hoped that wasn’t the case. He would like to think his warriors would not allow the misdeeds of jumped-up cutthroats within their ranks. 

“What would you have me do?” Kylo growled.

“You can save her without taking her virtue,” Poe snapped back.

Kylo clenched his jaw at the insinuation of his words. “Careful, brother. You may be my second in command, but that does not give you the right to be disrespectful.”

“What about being your friend? Does that give me the right to speak up when you are making choices that will hurt your clan?”

Kylo had to bite back his response because he knew it would have been unfair. Poe cared about him. He may look like a heartless warrior, but Kylo knew differently. He was as honorable a drengr as they came.

“I will be honest with you, I know not what to do. She makes me feel crazy with need. The need to have her, to protect her, to hold her. Needs I’ve never felt before. The thought of another man’s hands and mouth on her makes me rage on the inside. Truly, Poe, I was planning to murder every one of Jarl Brondolf’s men as I watched them touch her.” He took a deep breath as the rage really turned once again. “How am I supposed to let any man near her again?”

Poe shook his head. “I would not want to be in your shoes, but I will stand beside you no matter what. You want to be a king slayer? I will hand you the sword and watch your back while you do what needs to be done.”

Kylo’s heart clenched at his words. There were few things valuable as the trust and loyalty of the men he led. They weren’t all loyal to him, but the ones who were would not hesitate to run into battle with him, even if it was one they couldn’t possibly win. They would fight with him and die right alongside him. 

“King Ozur will not die.” Kylo had given his archers strict orders not to aim at the king or his children when they visited the tower. What was their stupid father thinking, letting them put themselves out in the open like that? Didn’t he know they would be an easy target for archers sneaking up on the fortress unseen? He should’ve let them take the shot and crippled the fortress before the battle even began. “If I take her and leave him alive, he will flee in shame and probably hide his family to protect them. As much as it is my right to dispatch him to Valhalla, I could make more trouble for myself as his sons and every Norseman on this island would seek to avenge him, and then I wouldn’t be able to take Rey as my own. Our clan would be doomed.”

He wasn’t much for murdering old kings anyway, he tried to convince himself. This would have to be the first and the last time he let this happen though.

Poe smiled, though his eyes didn’t speak of humor. “O, what joy we find in having so many choices that lead to death and destruction.”

“You are a twisted man, brother.” Kylo laughed because if he didn’t, he would probably start blindly swinging his sword, breaking everything in sight. 

Poe knew what he meant. They had choices. There were always choices, but that didn’t mean the choices were necessarily easy or good. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The best possible outcome he could hope for would be to get Rey away before anyone realized the King wasn’t dead. Even after that he would have to figure out what to do with her and he never failed to give the jarls and commanders their rightful percentage following a raid or battle, as was law. And that even though Brondolf’s accursed son, Arnmundur, made no secret of his belief that he should be declared their foremost warrior, with his first choice of everything.

Kylo wondered, not for the first time, if Jarl Brondolf did not fear him just a little. Arnmundur, he knew all too well, did not.

Perhaps Arnmundur should.

“So, did you kiss her?”

Kylo chuckled. “I thought you knew?”

Poe shrugged. “You were in there a long time. If it were me, and I was alone with my woman, well… I wouldn’t have walked out with anything less than a kiss or three.”

“And that’s why Apples couldn’t help you pack fast enough after you kissed her goodbye.”

“Do not be jealous,” Poe snorted. “My wife just cannot resist me. I’m strong, handsome, she cries out from my bed. I am quite generous.”

“Anyone who looks like the ass end of a horse is generous. Don’t read too much into her ability to suffer your assery.”

“She carries my pup! I could tell by the tits.”

“I’m overjoyed for you. The world needs more little Poes. There will be many sleepless nights ahead!”

“The kiss, Kylo. Quit stalling.”

“Fine,” he breathed out. “Ja, I kissed her. But I’m leaving it at that. I do not make it a habit to share what goes on behind closed doors between my woman and me.”

Poe’s stupid grin was still on his face. “Because you haven’t had any closed-door encounters with the fairer sex, have you? Not once.” 

Kylo waved him off. Poe was just trying to annoy him at that point, and he wasn’t going to walk into his traps. He was annoyed enough as it was. He could tell when he left the hut that Rey was going to try to push him away. She thought to end things between them before things could even get started, and that was annoying enough. He didn’t need Poe’s shit to add to the mix. 

Rey strained her hearing in hopes of catching some bit of conversation, but there was nothing, and she saw the other man for the first time. Ah, him. Rey remembered him from the battle also — a whirling mass of hair and weapons, who spread blood wherever he went. Her gaze found him now where he leaned with a deceptive calm against the alehouse wall at one side. Nei, nei, his rough accent made an ugly thing of their beautiful language, that which she had always believed sang from the mouths of those she loved. She remembered gathering kelp on the shore, hearing her shield sisters and neighbors call to one another over the rocks, thinking it sounded less like speech and more like music. Yet this one, only of average height, but from the look of his body he was just as strong, although not quite as broad. Ja, stocky and powerfully made and, like Kylo, carried with him an aura of authority. He had long, dark, curly hair, pulled into a braid beneath his helmet. His smoked color was rarely seen in their lands and was rather startling to behold.

She watched from the ground, suddenly aware that she was unsupervised. Kylo was mad entirely, she thought frantically. Her eyes darted around her, and she considered whether she could make a dash for it and where she could go.

She moved with lightning quickness. 

She had second thoughts when she stepped out into the wilderness. She never felt like she belonged before, but one second in his arms, every sad moment in her life, every doubt, faded away. 

But the fear of being a kept woman was enough to send her running. She looked longingly at Sturla’s alehouse, where moments ago, she received a kiss worth more than all the gold a woman could ask for. She swallowed her uncertainty and ran into the opposite side of the woods.

They would hunt her down, and there would be punishment. She had seen. She did not care. To die in the wild would be better than claimed as a prize. _Oh, Freya, oh, Freya… do not desert us, do not desert me._ But she refused to think of failure. Like the rest of them, she needed to concentrate on surviving. She would escape. She _must._

She would never go with him willingly. Rey God’s-Eye was a warrior, a master swordswoman... Not a wife that had to do everything a man commanded. _Go hither, go thither, do this, do that!_ It wasn’t the kind of person she was. She would never forgive him for doing that to her. She did not care about his raven allure or that she was attracted to him more than any other man she had ever met in her life. It would never be enough to reverse the damage he’d done. 

How could she possibly survive a marriage to a man that made her legs tremble and her body feel weak as a newborn lamb? By the breath of Odin! What if there was no arrangement at all, but only his fury at hearing her curse and deny him? What if this were the way in which he had chosen to punish her?

_Just a little further and I’ll be at the river._

Keeping her eyes and ears sharp for trouble, she followed the stream until the water began to burble noisily and then rush. She preferred busy water to still; she could not see her reflection in water rushing past. She always seemed to get caught in the reflection of still water, and she hated it.

She had had occasions to look into a glass; she had done so only once. What she had seen had upset her too much to look again.

Not because her eyes were so terrible, but because they weren’t.

All she had seen, peering into the glass, was a girl. A brunette girl with long, wild hair trained into thick braids. Eyes that were clear but more than that. She had seen brown and green and gold and even orange in her eyes. The brown seemed to cross through the centers and radiate out in lines across the bottoms, like the roots of a tree.

She understood why people said what they did.

But they were just eyes. The head they were in was the head of the girl. A shieldmaiden making her name, but no more than that.

And yet, she was alone and always would be, because everyone else saw Yggdrasil in her eyes. They saw the world tree. They saw the world, and they said it was Odin’s eye she bore.

It would have been easier to bear if it had frightened her, too.

So she stayed away from her reflection and let herself imagine it was more terrible than it really was. 

If she made it to the water’s edge, she could ford the river and find her way to safety. She broke the treeline, jumping over the logs that had laid in the same spot for decades. The sense of home evaded her, and while she’d never felt like she belonged, she felt even more lost now.

Her feet hit the ground hard, her heart pounded in her chest, and her arms pumped her body faster, away from the pain of what her life used to be. She leapt as hard as she could and fell in the middle of the river, soaking her clothes to the bone. She crawled out of the other side of the riverbed, dirtying the thin cloth with mud. There had been no warning as she fought to catch her breath against the edge of the rushing water.

Then an arm shot out from nowhere and wrapped around her waist, muffling her cries with a large hand.

“And where are you running to, woman?” purred a resonant voice. She tried her best to get out of his hold, but the way he had his arms wrapped around her chest, she couldn’t get free. Her body was soaking wet from crossing the river, and the water was transferring to his own pants. The material stuck to his thighs, hugging the erection stretching down his leg.

Her ass rubbed against him, and she gasped when she felt how thick he was for her. She stopped fighting him, trying to catch her breath as she clutched onto his wrists. 

She growled, wiggling that pert ass against him again. She could feel how much he wanted her. Rey knew exactly what she was doing.

“Away from you,” she grunted through clenched teeth. 

A laugh rumbled from behind her, deep and rich. The bead of her nipple rubbed against his arm, chipping away at his control. “I disagree. I think you wanted me to find you. I think—” He ran his finger down her cheek. A few drops of water beaded on the high peaks and he wiped them off, sucking his fingers into his mouth.

 _My little fire eater. She will give me fine sons,_ he decided with a firm nod. 

He moved the wet, brunette tendrils of her hair, and he placed his lips against her ear to whisper, “—I think, you were running away from the place that cages you.”

“As if you are not that cage.”

“Do not do this thing you’re planning. If you try to outrun your destiny, you will only find death. Think of the consequences to your people. A true leader must put everyone else before himself… or herself.”

Her brow drew together as she looked back at him. “What do you mean? You speak as though you knew me before we met.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know you, but I knew of you and that you would be important to me.”

She was not sure how to interpret his words. She felt as though there was some hidden meaning behind them. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

Finally, she turned and took in the man who meant to claim her as his prize, trying not to think too hard about his words. She stood up as tall as she could and managed to look down her nose at him, even though she barely came up to his chest. Such a tiny, fiery thing she was.

She’d make good sons indeed.

His loins tightened even more at the thought. And if his breeches weren’t already wet from her sudden swim in the river, no doubt there would be a giant wet spot on the front where his cock had been leaking like a sieve.

“You wanted me before you saw me. You only want me for power!”

“That’s true.” He ran his finger over her plump, pink rosebud lips. “You’ve got power. I felt it.”

“Power you can wield. So, you just take what you want? Without asking?” her eyes fell to his lips, her voice low, smothered in lust, sultry and dripping with sex.

He cupped his hand around the back of her head. His thumbs brushed along her delicate jawline, and his head dropped of its own accord, pulled by the hypnotic force of her lips. “I asked. You ran. I caught you.”

“You gave an ultimatum.” She leaned back, toying with him, getting out of reach of his kiss. He could take her if he really wanted to, but he enjoyed the game she was playing.

“My clan came because our Jarls wanted to raid the ships of the Svealanders who were coming to marry your Princess,” Kylo said reluctantly, “And gut your King’s palace as well. The mundr was far more than it should have been if you ask me, but I suppose dewy eyes, honeyed curls and a sizable portion of land come at a price.” 

“And why did you come?” Rey could tell by the sound of his voice that his answer was not the complete story.

“I came for you,” he finally admitted.

“To abduct me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nei. I came to court you, but the only way I could do that was by getting close to you.” The memory of their kiss made his heart hammer through him. “And I knew I had to have you, no matter the cost. I will not allow any other man to touch you. This body is mine and mine alone.”

She wanted to say she was not his, but as his body melded against hers, she felt her soul reaching for his. Another thing she wouldn’t ever forgive him for.

“And what cost are you paying? I’m leaving my home, my comrades. Going with a complete stranger, the enemy. Going where? To a foreign land among strange people and be a prisoner there? You would just claim me for your own?”

“I am risking my people, my life, my lands. All for you. To have you by my side.”

“No matter of what I thought?”

“You want me.”

Dark hair fell into dark eyes as he surveyed her body and Rey found that, had the circumstances been different, she would have _loved_ the way his cheek dimpled. 

“Do I look like I am in need of a buck?”

“You don’t have to say it. Your body is speaking for you.”

Rey stepped back from Kylo and then surprised them both. 

“I am inclined to think you are full of horse droppings… but… I do not think you are so dense as to try to seduce me into your bed while spilling the blood of my clansmen, razing our town, and under the eye of the guard. So I guess you will just have to prove your words to me. You do that, Warlord, and I’m yours. Of course, you will have to earn my respect. I will not turn belly up and submit to you. Which means no playing about with other women until then. I know there are many who are too eager to lift their skirts to a handsome warrior.”

Kylo choked as he swallowed. She was young and yet she spoke her mind with such decisiveness. Even Poe could see why he was smitten with her. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he murmured, his eyes taking her in as though she was the first piece of land he’d seen after being on the ocean for months. 

Rey pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin. Her eyes danced with the same fire he’d seen in that wildcat. She knew monarchs might marry again, in time and against the laws, for a man might well have several wives or concubines in his lifetime. For a woman alone the future looked bleak. When she had told Fakse that she wouldn’t do it, it had been prevarication and they both knew it. Her heart plummeted to land with a thud in her stomach. All this time she had been so certain something would change, but she realized now that she’d only been fooling herself. It hadn’t been certainty at all, but a childish indulgence. Nothing would save her from her fate. Swallowing her pride, she realized she’d have to handle this diplomatically. “I am not jesting, Warlord. You want me?”

“You know I do.”

~oOo~

Well, damn, if these two weren’t just going to continue to flirt and eye-know each other. Then again, Poe knew that once Kylo made a decision, he never wavered. There would be no changing his mind. If he said he wanted her, then he meant it with everything in him.

~oOo~

“If I ever hear of you setting those eyes on another woman, I will cut them out and feed them to fish. I won’t allow my heart to be toyed with.”

Kylo wanted her so fiercely, so blindly, how could she even think he could bear to look at another woman?

“So you want me as well?” he asked her. “You do not think you are not too young to be making such a declaration?” 

“I may be young, but I know my own damn mind, and when I see what I want, I am not afraid to take it. My own ability to wait for you does not need to be questioned. I am a female and one of high repute. Influence. While yours is waning. What will your men think should they discover you chased a woman into battle? Even if I did not respect myself and took a man to my bed before taking him as my husband, I would be disgraced. But a man…” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “A man can take as many women to his bed as he pleases before taking a bride, and everyone turns a blind eye. Your past is _not_ your past, and if you are telling me I am what your soul wants, then you had better be ready to show me the truth in your words.”

She turned away, her arms folded across her chest.

“Rey God’s-Eye,” Kylo’s voice came out in a low growl. 

She looked back at him over her shoulder.

“I have no problem proving anything to you, and I am not an animal in rut, needing to satisfy my every urge. But hear me, woman. You expect my devotion, and you have it. I expect the same.”

She began to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her. “I am not talking about your body. I’ve no doubt you will keep your skirt down and your beautiful legs closed. I am talking about you. You want me to be yours, then you had damn well better be mine. None of that flirty shit that you do so well. No casual touches from other males, I don’t care if they are a warrior of your army or mines. We clear, little princess?”

Rey’s lips tightened. She obviously did not care for the endearment. 

“We are clear. But, Warlord, if you ever call me little princess again, I won’t have to worry about you lusting after some barmaid. I will make sure you are cut to be a eunuch, and I will be the one doing the cutting.”

“And the women I’ve conquered. You know this?”

“I am to believe you never hunted them mercilessly and punished without pity.”

“I have never taken a slave — or a bride. I am _your_ anchor. On my honor. My sword.” He grimaced. For this very reason he had never taken a slave; he knew too well how it felt to be held captive to a higher power and forced to serve. “I tend to take all my passion in the madness when it takes me. Have you the wit to accept your lot, safer here with me than around Húsavík?”

Rey peered more closely into Kylo’s face. Above them, and to the north, the after-glories flickered in the sky, a show of majesty to which she could barely give her attention. _Never?_ Did he expect her to believe he might be loathed to do so, this man against whom others had warned her — the worst of all his kind?

Hate flared in her heart when she thought of Fakse’s fate. 

Rey spoke, her voice was rough with uncertainty. “Why would you want me? How did you know me?”

“You were part of a prophecy that my mother received. She is the Völva. She saw that our futures were intertwined. In order to save both our people, we must be joined.”

Rey started to argue. She had already witnessed a betrothal that was based upon the benefit of two kingdoms. Rey did not want a marriage based upon political alliances. Before she could say anything, Kylo held up his hand to stop her.

“I know what you are going to say, and I understand it,” he said. “I wouldn’t want a marriage that wasn’t based upon love. I did not want to be forced anymore than you did, I promise you. That is why I wanted to court you. Realities change. Plans change. I stay. To stamp out this insurrection. If we are meant to be, wouldn’t it stand to reason that we would be in love? I would never have forced you. And I still won’t.”

She believed him. From what she learned about him over a few cups, despite not knowing his true background, his actions had proven his character. And, right or wrong, she was a little more than attracted to him, a Dane.

Rey thought about this a moment… then made a bargain. “Take me in your hands.” 

Kylo stepped forward, grinning. He caressed her smooth-skinned arm. Rey slapped his hand and laughed in his face. “Not that! Do you wrestle in Danmark?”

The lilting accent melted over sharp Norse. It teased his ear, the same as her knocking away his hand. Women, slaves, thralls, the lowest of laborers knew better than to strike a warrior.

He stepped back, amused. “Of course.”

“Show me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“O, mmm?” 

After a moment of intense staring between the two hotheads, she grinned and he sprang. It was quick work, wrestling her to the ground. The rock growled in the scuffle, clouds of dust rose around her. Whatever she’d meant to say was lost in shocked yelps. He jammed his forearm high on her chest. Shorn fingernails raked his neck. 

Rey scrabbled beneath him like a doused cat. He jerked his hips back, narrowly missing a knee to the balls. Blood thrumming, he swung his knee over thrashing limbs and pinned her with his thigh. 

He was nose to nose with her. Eyes glimmered through tangled brown hair. Anger stiffened her limbs. He would feed off it and stay vigilant. A man could never be too careful with the gentler sex. In his travels, he’d heard of fair-faced women plying a deathly trade by luring the hapless traveler into a private place. The end of that tale was always cruel. Thieves robbed the man and beat him unconscious or worse — killed him.

It happened to Arnmundur. His loss was a pride that wouldn’t heal. 

Glowering up at him, she jammed the heels of her hands against his shoulders. 

A slow smile formed. The she-cat had spirit, he’d give her that. She wriggled hard, the cradle of her body bumping him. The woods were quiet save her feet battering the dirt. One glance proved no one lurked beyond the trees. He had ordered Poe to stay behind, but where in Valhalla was the man now? Kylo needed him. His strength failed more completely with each second that passed, and his judgment had already been compromised by this beautiful woman. That had never happened before. By the Gods, he promised himself. Mind over body, victory must be his goal. 

Why not have a little fun before his long day’s ride? 

“Why do you keep fighting? You’re not going to unseat me.”

“Get off,” she huffed. “Overgrown brute.” Teeth clenched, she dug her nails into his chainmaill-covered shoulders. 

Low laughter rocked in his chest. “You can deal it out, but cannot take it.”

She bristled, “Hon madr Roman therva kuaran!”

A horse whinnied in the distance. Time passed thick and quiet, marked by the tension melting from her slender legs resting between his. He stared into her eyes, and he could feel them, searching him, wondering. Yielding. He’d savor this moment: the dip of her loins beneath him, a leathered knee touching his inner thigh, robes tussled and warm from her body, hair spread out for his touch… Sensual tenderness was a Freya-blessed gift in their harsh life. They were quick to steal softness when they could.

She gave the slightest nod.

“That’s better. Now that we’re comfortable. We need to discuss my reward. A kiss.”

“I think not.”

Such haughtiness delivered with ear-teasing sweetness.

“This isn’t a negotiation, sweeting. Your courage is noteworthy, but you should know when a man has the upper hand.”

“We don’t have time for this, Da—”

Hungry lips closed over her own as strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. At first slow and seductive, he tasted her mouth, nibbling and teasing, until she opened just enough for him to slip his tongue inside. Hardy feminine grunts beguiled him. Her fight was more from exhaustion than will. Palm flat on her ribs, he grazed his thumb across the side of her breast. She froze. Her heart banged against his forearm bracing her chest. Her body heat seeped into him. This woman was meant to be savored, her gentleness absorbed. 

He took his time, trailing his fingers over each rib before finding the sweet furrow of her waist. Gold eyes flared wide when his hand slid lower, cupping her hip.

Sooty lashes dipped in the manner of a submissive maid, but he wasn’t fooled.

Years of living by the sword warned him — _listen._

He brushed back her hair, the strands as rich as silk threads. The gods had created this woman for his pleasure. More went on here than met the eye. That alone _could_ make the troublesome seer worthwhile. Then he devoured her, plunging and thrusting, a lurid glimpse of the passion he’d caged for so long. It both frightened and exhilarated. Her nails bit into the mailshirt, feeling the muscles harden underneath, flexing and rippling as his hands continued to slide over her body.

A harsh groan escaped him as she reached up to clasp her arms around his neck, deepening their kiss. The raw sound of his pleasure torched her on a primal level, awakening a fresh flood of heat and moisture from her feminine core.

As if sensing her growing need, he lifted her higher in his arms and slid one powerful thigh between her legs, letting her feel the heat of flesh in a place she’d never been touched before...

Poe heard some commotion behind him, and then the Shieldmaiden’s voice. “Move out of my way, or I will skewer you where you stand!” 

That brought a smile to his face. 

“Rey.” Kylo’s voice, calm and firm spoke up. “Did I not make you travel the kingdoms?”

“More of your blasted sorcery,” she spat.

Deciding she had abused the Warlord enough, Poe dismounted his horse, wiping the remaining tears of laughter from his eyes, and went to help. The sight before him was quite comical. The Shieldmaiden had a short sword in each hand. She had backed up Kylo against a tree with one of the swords dangerously close to parts he was sure the poor man would not want to lose. His Warlord always did want a woman with a mean streak.

The other sword was held up to fend off Poe, who stood with his hands raised, trying, but failing, to make his bulky frame look nonthreatening. When their heads turned to look at him, Kylo made his move. One hand grabbed Rey’s wrist and relieved her of the sword, while the other wrapped around her waist, turning her until her back pressed against his chest. At the same time, Poe grabbed the other wrist and took that seax. Their movements were coordinated, as if they knew instinctively what the other one was thinking. 

Her eyes were wide, and Poe was sure matched his look. 

“What just happened?” She asked a little breathlessly. 

“You made a fatal mistake, little warrior,” Kylo said gruffly, though his eyes gleamed with humor.

“You took your eyes off your opponent,” Poe explained. “You allowed yourself to be distracted. It is a deadly error to make, and one you will only make once.” 

Kylo’s lips tilted up slightly as Rey’s face reddened as she frowned at Poe’s jest. 

“Thank you for the tip,” she bit out and attempted to pull away from Kylo’s hold. “Let me go.”

“Nei. I like you where you are,” Kylo said as he winked at her. 

Rey shot him a look that promised retaliation. 

The large man let his hand run along her stomach to her waist where he squeezed her gently before he scooped her up and over his shoulder. Rey whipped around and glared at him. Kylo was not ashamed in the least.

“Put me down, you gleidr oskilgetinn!”

He ignored her, striking her generous rump with a pleased expression. It was a good day indeed. She was the finest catch of all his raids!

She moaned at the impact, feeling the dampness between her thighs. She couldn’t understand her own body’s reaction to her abduction. Her stomach lurched.

“I’m going to spew!”

He put her down and stared at her in consternation. Her color was high, making her all the prettier. He was of mind to take her where he stood and quickly surveyed the area for a soft patch of grass or a rock to bend her over and seal their betrothal. 

“I’d be a terrible wife! I’m an awful cook, I can’t grow crops and I can’t sew a stitch!”

“That’s alright. I won’t require you to do any of those things. I have many servants for those matters.”

“Do you think I will be able to meet the farm’s nisser? To make sure he knows that I intend to look after him properly with porridge and everything. That way he will know to favor your farm,” Rey said, interrupting his plans.

Kylo stared ahead at the rapidly approaching road, trying to decide if she was talking about the mischievous elf who was supposed to guard homes but often played tricks on the inhabitants was a good thing. Such creatures in Kylo’s existence did not exist or, if they did, they were not inclined to assist her.

“Tending to your chores will do more to ensure the farm prospers than putting out porridge. Believe me. This farm will prosper with me in charge.”

Her jaw dropped open. He chuckled at the shocked expression on her pretty face. Her soft, supple, perky breasts trembled in outrage. “Shut your miklimunnr before the nissers fill it with their little boots! Let go of me, you clod. You Danish oaf.” 

She was fighting him now, dragging her heels and thrashing.

“Clod? Danish oaf? Do you always make such sweet-talk, woman?”

She nodded desperately. “Ja, incessantly. I can’t help it. You’ll have to cut out my tunga! Think of the mess that will make!”

“Perhaps I have other uses for your tunga.”

He silenced her at last, he saw. He lifted her up and plopped her on top of his black steed, waiting. 

“This is Sleipnir,” he said, more to the horse than her. “She will take us onward.” He was attached to his mare and valued her more than anyone. 

Realizing she could never outrun or out-battle him, a dull stab of disappointment filled her as she accepted that her fate was sealed.

“Perhaps the ride will help quell your waywardness.” Kylo nodded, believing they had reached an accord, before he turned, mounting his mare in another moment. He lifted his hand and gestured to the road. Within minutes they were headed back down the road toward the moorings where their ships awaited. 

He pulled her stiff body up against his chest, reveling at the feel of her in his arms. He decided he would wait to have her until he could see to it properly. He would like to treat her with gentleness. 

The first time anyway. After that, and there would be many times, he would take her as he pleased. Soft or rough. Tender or vigorously. _Ja_ , he thought with satisfaction. _We have many such nights to look forward to!_

He focused on the road while his body urged him to explore her with his hands. He settled for wrapping them firmly around her front to keep her in place. He leaned down to inhale the fragrance of her hair. She smelled clean. Like clean water, sweet woman and something green, a herb perhaps. Her sweet breasts bobbed delightfully against his forearms. He was about to explore those beguiling mounds when he heard a soft sniffling sound. He looked around for a moment before he realized what it was. 

His recalcitrant betrothed was crying.

_What happened to the fierce woman who wrestled me then tricked and disarmed me a moment ago?_

He watched her cry and felt for her, he did, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her. He would have her. Surely the kiss argued the hope. Kylo let out a sigh. Loki, how he wanted her. He’d suck a fart out of her ass. She was perfect for him. 

_She just threatened to cut my balls off, and I think she’s perfect._

Hel, ja, he grinned stupidly. 

_A woman who can handle a blade, can no doubt handle other things as well_ , his father would say. _Why, your mother would raise my mast and then we really made some waves..._ By Loki, Kylo thought, shaking his head. _Blech! Ptooh!_ He supposed his father was right. Rey was just as crass as he was and she didn’t blink an eye at his crude comments. 

_And she’s just as violent as me. I have a feeling there will be blood drawn many times before the two of us make it to the marriage bed._

Kylo nodded. Of that he had no doubt. Too many of those hladhqnd, court males looked at her as if she was a trophy to be paraded through every town. Kylo had no doubt, if they stayed here much longer, he would have to kill a few. She was the type who would flirt with them just to piss him off. 

_And I’d fucking love it._

Ja, he would. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t beat the shit out of the males she flirted with.

_Hold a moment, isn’t that a bit unfair to those males?_

Kylo shrugged. _Wrong place, wrong time, not my problem._ He had a feeling Poe would be constantly intervening where the two of them were concerned. Kylo was like rolling thunder, and Rey was a bolt of lightning. Put them together, and you had the makings of a volatile storm.

They rode in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. The more time passed, the more he wondered if there was a way to get in contact with his mother. Not only did he want to make sure his mother was safe, but he also needed reassurance. Was the prophecy still the same? Or had he altered it somehow? The prophecy had not mentioned his princess would be so resistant to the bond. Her sobbing eased, and she stayed in his arms, hiccuping occasionally.

Kylo’s ship was the largest drakkar Rey had ever seen or heard of. It was twice the size in height and twice the size in width to the other counterparts in his fleet along Skjálfandi bay, with men packed, their weapons and equipment loaded. Its meticulously carved, gilt dragon head lifted high above the water, its planking painted in bold colors that stood out against the darkening sky. And the sea-beasts were lifted from their prow posts so as not to frighten the landvættir as they came ashore.

Kylo turned to Poe. “We’ve been here long enough. Call the men back, my friend.”

Poe grunted agreement and reached for the elk horn hanging from the mast in the center of the ship.

The ensuing blast of the elk horn set the seabirds shrieking as they wheeled and dipped above the mast. The incoming tide was beginning to turn. Kylo eyed the swiftly flowing current, calculating with speed and distance. With luck, they'd reach the Eyrarsund from the North Sea and so on to Klinten on the island of Møn before they were discovered and had to pay tribute to the various sea kings who prowled the sea lanes.

Normally, Kylo’d welcome such an encounter. Hel, a frontal assault on entrenched Viking defenders, both Danish and Vendish, would be costly; however, a sea battle would destroy the enemy fleet and force them into surrender. But he hadn’t taken his bride from one battlefield only to dump her in another. 

He paused to watch the crew as they answered the call of the horn. They were in rowdy humor, drunk with triumph, yelling battle cries and thumping each other’s shoulders as they leapt on board. To be sure, he did not think there was any real danger of another man claiming her. They won the order of right to choose by valor — he usually got first or second choice but had never claimed a woman and requested only valuables — silver or gold. Did Rey not see the reaction back there? No one knew what to make of it. He could expect a scuffle or two over the division of loot, but for the most part they were good, seasoned men who sailed with Kylo before. With marriage beckoning, he upped sticks and left Isaland.

Already the moon rose into the arch of the sky that, at this time of year, saw little real darkness. Rey twisted around for a last look as they sailed far from the burned husk of her village. She could see wisps of smoke rising from the blackened debris. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest as she considered all she was giving up by going with him. She would never see beyond stone walls, she might never fall in love, or he love her, and she might never truly be happy again. Shaking off the fear and disgust, she pulled on the strength instilled in her by her shield sisters. 

For some time she stayed still like that, trying to come to terms with the terrible events that had shattered the course of her life and changed it forever. 

There were moments of heavy silence as the weight of his stare bore down into her. She could almost hear his mind racing and was sure he could hear her quickening heartbeat. Yet she refused to speak. If she did, it would feel like Kylo was winning some bizarre, silent game between the two of them. All of a sudden he broke the stillness by moving one of those large palms to her face. She recoiled, more out of instinct than fear, but steadied herself as the heat of his hand approached. Shutting her eyes momentarily, she remembered how that palm felt against her backside… As she pushed that traitorous thought away, she blinked them open to see him, now within inches of her face. 

“Will you be well-behaved enough for those bruises to be tended to now?”

His hand, cradling her left cheek, dipped around her face and moved to beneath her chin, propping it up with one finger and thumb. “Rey?”

There was that low, alluring tone again, hell-bent on enticing her into some fate even worse than that which Fakse had feared.

She nodded, giving him what he desired, but trying to break the spell he appeared to be casting over her. 

This time he nodded his assent at her, and he opened a bundle, in which he had a collection of mosses and flowers.

Rey recognized some, but she knew little of healing. She had diligently avoided any of that, always fearing she’d somehow end up the crone in the woods Ljúfvina had meant her to be.

He tore pieces of some and then, with mud he’d scooped up from the bank, mashed it all together, softening it with water. Then he turned and brought his hands toward her face. She glared at him, but something was clouding the golden fire in her eyes. 

She heard Kylo curse. Apparently, she could not disguise her pain as well as she had hoped.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

Rey frowned. She had just been stolen from her land. She had healed a stab wound. She had discovered… something, some kind of magical connection between Kylo and her, and now he was asking her what her favorite color was? Perhaps she hadn’t fully healed him, and he was now going into shock?

“Green,” she said instinctively, trying to pretend she wasn’t elated just hearing him speak. 

“What is your favorite time of day?”

Rey furrowed her brow as she considered his question. “Do people really have a favorite time of day?”

“I do, or at least I believe I will,” he answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Morning.” His deep voice rumbled. “Morning will be my favorite time of day because I once dreamt I’d one day have my woman to wake up beside me to share the sunrise. I pictured her in my mind, as I opened my eyes to see her form lying beside me, her hair all a mess as the morning light streamed across her face and down her body. I’d run my fingertips across her cheek down to her full lips, feeling the silky skin that was mine alone. The warmth of our bodies would keep me in bed too long, but I did not care because as long as she was beside me every morning, I could face anything. But then I’d wake and she was gone.”

 _Freya._ She sat, mere inches from a man who could feel so deeply, who could treasure the gift of a good wife. Just when the ache had stopped, it began again, but she kept it buried this time. What he had said was beautiful. It was what she wanted as well but convinced she’d never have. Her hugr could not help but imagine the things Kylo had described, putting herself in the place of the woman in his bed. Her visions were as they always had been. Little had changed, save their clarity. With every return, the things she saw felt less like dreams and more like memories. What would it be like to wake up to the warmth of his large body pressed against hers? Would her heart be able to withstand the overwhelming emotions while their union proceeded in the meantime?

“Lady?” Kylo said, slightly hesitant.

“I am here,” she answered.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Rey shook her head. “Nei. That is the problem, lord. You said everything right. That woman in your bed should be so fortunate.”

“She might not feel that way after being stuck with me for a few seasons,” he chuckled. “I am a warrior first and a lover second.”

“A warrior is what is needed first. A warrior is what keeps a woman safe, protected, and you alive so you can be a lover to her. I say, be the best warrior you can be to ensure you always return to her.” She did not know where these words came from, but they felt right. He did give her something. Hope of finding strength and kindness in one man poured a balm on her soul, and left her curious for more. 

His ministrations completed he sat back, then grabbed a skin waterbag and washed his hands in the clean water.

~oOo~

Rán was fierce, but Kylo knew the sea and did not fear her.

The sky went black, and then the lightning came again, a startling streak of gold, as if Thor himself had cast down a bolt of fire to light up the doom that approached. Thor or Odin, the Lords of the Viking horde, of their people, were at work. Odin was casting lightning bolts as he raced his black stallion, Sephyr, and his chariot across the heavens. Odin, god of the pagans, was creating the storm, turning the sky to pitch, lighting it up with blazes of fire.

Kylo stood tall and towering and powerful, like a silver god against the wind, a booted foot braced hard against the prow. The wind played against his hair, and it was as black as the night sky, his eyes danced with madness. His uncommon features were strongly chiseled, ruggedly, implacably handsome. His cheekbones were high and wide, his eyebrows set well upon his brow and cleanly arched, his jaw firm. His mouth, wide and sensual, was curved into a perverse smile as lightning lit up the heavens and the sea churned beneath him. His beard and moustache were damp with salt spray, blacker than the hair upon his head, and his flesh was fair, a creamy ivory. His legs, hugging the tempest-tossed ship with ease, were as strong as steel from years upon the sea and years riding, running, fighting, and coming a-Vikingr.

~oOo~

She sat in the same place, unmoving until Kylo approached with some food and water and said gently, “Eat…” which she did. Her stomach had been feeling none too well, but after eating the good fare, she felt like herself again. A-Vikingr had been a way of life. It was what they did and what they were, but before she could even finish that thought, Kylo said, “I sleep there.” He gestured to big fur bags spread on the rough planks, and Rey tensed. “You make your bed there.” He pointed to the corner, and he added as if to make clear. “I will not bother you.”

Might she be so fortunate? If all she had to fear was his madness… perhaps she could survive after all.

Yet his examination continued down her body, lingering at her ass. He hesitated, as if to speak, but then the dark gaze returned to her face and he said nothing.

Ah — after that look, surely he must lie. This faithful man of hers, who had never before taken a woman as a prize?

Perhaps he considered that act — as she had with him.

Huddled in her cache of blankets, Rey lay listening to the sounds of night and seeking the courage she would need to face the dawn. The journey on the longship had been rough and arduous, ridden by miserable rain and dread, but only now when she’d landed on her feet did the truth of her situation hit her.

It could be worse, she thought. At least he did not resemble the back-end of a boar. And strove to believe in her fortune. She had been claimed by the feared úlfhéðnar, and yet he said he did not want to use her harshly or for power — to use her at all — and she believed him. Harder to believe she would never see her home again, would be forced to live out her days in a country among strangers. Never had she felt so alone.

Alone, ja, and yet not alone. She could hear Kylo breathing across the tent. She could also hear footsteps and the voices of those passing around, no doubt bound also to their beds. And she could hear the pounding of her own heart.

__

_Help me, Freya._

She had never been a woman of weak will. Sure of her place in the world and prepared to defy her kinfolk to seize the life she wanted, she’d not been easily cowed. Ja, it was why they had been able to face down her father years ago when he had tried to use his fists on their sister, Audr, when Rey could barely walk. She had seen eight summers when it became clear to him that it was not his sons but his daughter who had an aptitude for swordplay. He’d expected her to marry to benefit the clan and had not been pleased when she chose another course. 

“You think you’re going to be a warrior?” he had bellowed when he caught her drawing her mother’s blade from the fleece-lined bed, and her heart beat like thunder in her chest. “I want grandchildren, and for that you need a husband.”

Rey’s eldest brother, Brynholf, far more sympathetic, had sought to remonstrate with their father. “Papa, she bears the eye, the fjölkunnigr and rammaukinn the gods put upon her at birth. And in this life, we cannot choose our fates. She comes by this desire honestly; have there not been shieldmaidens in our family back through history?”

Rey’s father, a warrior to the heart, glowered. “Warriors. Warriors! Men and women who chose a vocation. Not a curse — who, with her dead mother, represents the sole chance to continue our line.”

Yet Rey, devoted to her goddess and what she believed to be her destiny, remained adamant. She had sisters, two of them, who could follow her father in the succession. She believed herself meant to embrace the old ways, the faith of her ancestors that endured yet in the isles, even though much of mainland Norway had turned to Christianity.

Now, blinking into the dark of her new prison as the night moved toward morning, Rey acknowledged she had always been different; even as a child she’d heard voices in the wind, seen pictures in the fire, understood the language of the seals, and believed the future might be told by a cast of runes. So she had pursued, with all her being, the path of devotion and battle.

How had that benefitted her in the end? Torn from the life she’d striven so hard to claim, she had lost everything, and her heart ached as never before.

Silently she asked Freya, _Is this a just return for my arrogance, for my insistence, for my disobedience to Papa? For I shall, in the future, have no chance of disobedience._

Freya did not answer, and fear of that proposed future made Rey squeeze her eyes tight shut. She had been battered and beaten emotionally where she’d attempted to hide in a corner from Kylo. Somehow she needed to gird up her courage and find a way to walk on, head high — prisoner or not.

And Kylo the Wren, Bengeirr Jóhannesson, this úlfhéðnar who controlled her fate — what of him? She still could not understand why his emotions, which should be as clear to her as those of everyone else she encountered, remain cloaked.

Did he act out of mercy and kindness? But he had no reason to be kind. Did he hide some other motive she could not divine? How perilous was her existence, dependent on a stranger who could well cast her aside when he tired of her or trade her to another one of these men.

His breathing, across the way, sounded even — he must sleep deeply. Again she gathered her spiritual resources and tried to plumb him, only to encounter the same wall — not of stone but of fog. Ja, he must keep himself hidden. But how did a man guard himself even in sleep?

He stirred suddenly, as if he felt her attempt to intrude upon him. She had been through quite an ordeal and he was doubtful she would still want him. He would leave her alone, simply holding her. That would be enough. To his surprise, he had not woken up with a slit throat. The paste he had made to heal her wound had hardened and paled, and it cracked slightly with her scowl. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Swiftly, she withdrew her attention. She did not wish to awaken him betimes. Moments alone in this new world would be precious, time in which she must seek to restore herself. 

As for the future, she would have to wait and see what came to her with the new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fjölkunnigr — possessed of magical knowledge. 
> 
> Rammaukinn — possessed more than mortal strength.
> 
> Landvættir — guardian spirits (faeries, etc.) who were tied to the land, often dwelling in rocks or waterfalls. It was important for people living on a piece of land to establish friendly ties with the local landvættir, as they could bless or curse the area as they saw fit. People gave them offerings of food and drink. In Icelandic law, sailors were required to remove the dragon prows from their ships to avoid frightening the land-wights. Rituals were performed when moving to or from a piece of land. According to descriptions in _Landnámabók_ and several sagas, written long after settlement of Iceland, some of the first settlers brought _öndveggisúlar_ (high-seat pillars, or a pair of wooden poles placed on each side of the high-seat — the place where the head of household would have sat — in a Viking-period Scandinavian house) with them from Norway. Once land was sighted, the high-seat pillars were thrown overboard, and a permanent farm was established where the pillars washed ashore. The first farm established in Iceland, located where the capital, Reykjavík, stands today, was allegedly founded using this method. While the _meinvaettir_ were land spirits who caused injury.


	8. The Betrothal Feast

The men were astir. The ravens had been sent out and had not returned, which meant they should be expecting land soon. After a couple days more, the expected first cry of “seagulls” brought a raucous cheer and then white-cliffed hills appeared. When Kylo’s ship was fairly beached all the men began unloading it. They carried everything up to the storehouse: the oars, the sail, the ropes, the gilt dragon’s head and tail, the cooking utensils they had used on the long voyage, as well as the spoils of victory they had brought back with them from the far-away country. The chest would not go to the storehouse, but instead to the doors of the feast hall. 

Rey could sense nothing from him. She did not understand why. ‘Tis as if he was empty inside. She could not endure a life spent in the power of such a man. She clutched herself again and cast a desperate look around. _There must be some way to escape. No one watches me now._ Incredibly, it was true. As soon as she passed into his possession, everyone else had lost interest in her.

_Is that what you think? There are eyes everywhere. Guards patrol this place, and even if they did not, there is nowhere to run. You are on an island, Rey. That vast sea you crossed separates you from home._

The lump of molten dread in Rey’s stomach turned to sickness. _Be obedient and do not anger them. Then they may not beat you. Above all else, you do not want to push the úlfhéðnar into a rage._

Tears of terror clogged Rey’s throat, once more denying her action. She could not remember a time when the Danes did not control her life. Her earliest memory of childhood was taking a pilgrimage to Uppsala, a journey taken by a four-year-old because her father and brothers could not be spared from battle. And now they were gone. All gone. Her father, three older brothers. None had the opportunity to grow old. 

Around them the fjord, lakes and streams leading to the ocean suddenly changed. The twisted forest soon made way for the southeasternmost territories; places Rey had heard about but had never seen with her own eyes. The path became steeper as Sleipnir was forced to climb hilly terrain. On the horizon Rey made out gently rolling pastures and tillage, ponds and marshes and watched in a daze as the sun moved from high in the sky to drop below the treeline. 

“Is she asleep?” Poe, the menacing man Kylo called his most noblest warrior and second asked in his guttural tone that not only slaughtered the Norse but could scare the dead. Rey rode with Kylo on the same mount, bodies close, sitting there unmoving, or perhaps listening.

“Ja, she fell asleep moments ago,” Kylo replied.

“Are you sure about this, Kylo? She didn’t seem so happy with this situation.”

“She’s strong and has a raging fire. She won’t admit it, but she wants it. She’s just stubborn.” She could hear the grin in his voice.

_But I am not stubborn! I just know what I want._

“You like that?” Poe asked.

“I fucking love it.”

A tear escaped her eye as guilt washed over her. He was right. She was a traitor and wanted to stay. She wanted to be in his strong embrace and make love to him all night, but she was frightened he was going to try to trap her and contain her spirit. She couldn’t live that way. She just couldn’t. 

“Well, congratulations. I hope the prophecy is correct, and she is the woman you will have. You deserve something beautiful in this life of war we live.”

“When did you become so philosophical?” Kylo jested.

Poe shrugged his strong shoulders. “I have layers.”

Kylo chuckled. “Ja, you certainly are like an onion. Peel back the layers to find something underneath, but by doing so, a stench is released that brings tears to the eyes of those around you.”

“You are simply a riot. Are you sure she is asleep?” Poe asked. 

“Ja, she will be fine for an hour or so.” Kylo grunted, and soon the crunch of leaves got more distant, and then silence surrounded her, except for the huff of the horses pulling the carts behind.

A light patter of rain started to fall, cooling Kylo’s head. 

“Ah, that feels damn good,” Poe grunted. Kylo imagined he was tilting his head back like he always did when it rained. 

“It’s been a while since it has. The plains need it,” Kylo stated.

“Ja. Rain is supposed to mean luck. Kylo the Wren has sought his destiny. Perhaps the curse has finally lifted.”

They could hear the horns informing everyone in the village that they had been spotted.

At some point Rey’s eyes had closed, the desire to sleep became an overwhelming battle in its own right. The rhythm of Sleipnir’s pace and the hardness of Kylo’s body combined to coax her into an unlikely slumber. For some time, she tried to resist the urge, straining her eyelids to remain open. Inevitably she lost the fight and fell into a fitful sleep against her captor.

Rey was aroused by the slowing of Sleipnir’s pace and opened her eyes to find them approaching a settlement ahead. Upon the battlements and the flags flying in the cool breeze, she recognized the crests she had seen earlier on the armor of the invading troops. It was then realization hit Rey; they had arrived at the place the Danes called home. 

“Velkominn heim, Lofðungr!” 

The sound of another voice startled her and she looked to her left to see a well-armed man standing on the path below.

“Allt vel, þakka, drengir mín!” he replied holding her tight from behind. She realized with chagrin she had been dozing against his chest, and quickly moved herself forward and as far away from him as possible. Other folk there, a goodly handful of them, greeted the Warlord cautiously and shot curious looks at her even as she smoothed her tattered robes back down. 

She could hear whispers they said, but — unlike her new master — she easily picked up their emotions, a blend of curiosity, hesitance and approbation. Though these people clearly respected Warlord Wren, they did not seem eager to interact with him. His fellow warriors appeared most at ease, yet even they held back, wariness in their eyes. 

None went so far as to question him about her presence, as had the men who crashed into Sturla’s alehouse. They approached the settlement, which a large wooden gate ahead of them had been thrown open in welcome. She saw húskarls on either side of them salute as they passed. Kylo rode Sleipnir through the entrance, driving her hard as they made their way into the city. Gradually as he instructed her to slow and then dropped to a trot, Rey began to absorb her new surroundings. The place was massive, so much bigger than she believed back home. There had to be thousands of people living there in the settlement — all hell-bent on defending against the Vends of the south. Rey shuddered as she considered this, wondering if their neighboring kingdoms would survive the onslaught. 

The sunlight was slipping away fast, making the settlement seem all the more malevolent. Sleipnir only traveled a short distance inside the square, but the sheer size of the place felt daunting. Clan families congregated indoors, warming themselves by cooking fires, telling eddur or poetry and carving toys out of wood whilst they roasted and shared their latest kill. The aroma of meat and dirt was everywhere and it stained Rey’s hair and seeped into her skin. The entire settlement was set back into the side of a hill. The river made up the west and north side, blocked off by both a stone wall and sheer drop of several hundred feet into the turquoise-green sea. The stone wall continued around the south and east sides of the property, but it was far more vast in both length and height than any of the Viking walls she’d seen on this side of the Midgard serpent. Inside the wall, set up higher on the hill, were several larger buildings and several smaller ones scattered about them. Rey’d imagined maybe a few huts around a granary, but this was remarkable. The front of the buildings looked to be made of planking and the same stone as the wall, a rare find across the wide ocean where the small, isolated farmhouses that dotted along the shores were made of native stone, part and parcel of the land. Ljúfvina had raised a stout house upon their stretch of coast — one that had nevertheless failed to protect them from the menace that swooped in from beyond the horizon. Again and again they had been sacked, and everything that could be seized had been taken.

“Impressed with our fortifications, are you?” Kylo asked. The wall was well over two men high. Torches were set at even intervals along the top of the wall, giving a little bit of light to the early evening. “My grandfather was an intelligent man with the gift of framsynn. He had this built back when we’d only heard talk about the invaders.”

“A wise man, indeed,” Rey agreed, her gaze traversing the wall. “Has it held up well to attack?”

“Ja,” Kylo said, raising his chin in a notch in pride. 

“It’s never fallen,” said the man at his side. “It’s been tested, but not once has it failed us.” Poe carried himself with the same pride of ownership as the Warlord. 

They stopped by a clearing and Kylo dismounted. She was left sitting aside the mare alone and all of a sudden she actually missed his proximity. In its own perverse way, he had become a sort of security to her. Kylo secured Sleipnir’s bridle to a low-lying wooden stake where a number of other horses were grazing, before he turned to her.

“Time to deliver you,” he said, winking at her.

She looked at him scornfully, although she could already feel the blush growing up her face. “I am not a _peace cow_ to be delivered!” she hissed down at him.

“You would actually be a skirja, dear, since you are, _refusing_ to ease my loins, still a maiden.” He smiled and a low feeling of dread spread through her. 

“I… you… how dare you? Bastard, if you do not hold your tongue, I am going to sew your lips shut.” It was a mean thing to say — she knew it — but she could not keep the words from spilling out. She just wanted to be alone to wallow in her pity and disappointment. Was that too much to ask?

“Dismount if you will,” he said by means of reply. “Join me here.”

She eyed him, the old defiance rising in her again as she shifted her weight backwards, finding the left stirrup again. Using her grip, she swung her right leg over the saddle and dropped unceremoniously to the dirt below. Kylo was over her before she could even remove her left foot from the stirrup. 

“You will be presented in the proper way,” he informed her as he approached her from behind. He gripped her tightly as his pace fell to a saunter, and she heard the presence of several other people. 

“What have you there, Warlord?” called a voice.

Kylo grunted and patted her ass in some kind of show. “A gift, for my people! Skywalkerland has a Lady to make her proud.”

It looked to Rey as if everybody had shown up to welcome their men back home, some of which were not returning to loved ones alive. The onlookers exchanged further comments about her unexpected appearance in town. She imagined the types of crude remarks they were sharing, and suddenly was longing to be head first over Kylo and not to have to see any of her own ignominy. Kylo made his way through the throng, his long strides cutting through the crowd like boiling water through ice. They approached a quieter area and she noticed that the sounds of strangers had finally fallen away, leaving Kylo to his task.

“You must’ve been at sea too long, Kylo,” came a dry voice.

A man, grizzled of beard and lined of face, came out to greet them, along with his staff.

“Take a good look, Lodmund Whitebeard.”

Whitebeard sent him an indignant glare, but obliged. He goggled at the sight of brown hair hanging down to Kylo’s knees.

“Thor’s hammer! ‘Tis a woman!”

“Oh, well. How reassuring to know our Lovsigemand is so observant.” 

“But I’ve never seen you carry off a female in all the years you’ve been a-Vikingr.” Whitebeard scratched his chin and aimed a thoughtful look at Kylo’s burden. “What’s more, you’ve always stopped the men from doing so. What’s the Queen going to say?” he persisted, beginning to look dubious.

Kylo eyed the tall, bearded man who barred his path. “Why should she say anything? She is my burden. My responsibility.”

“Because of her and the King’s strong views on captives.” But as Kylo went to move past him, he put out a restraining hand. “They’ve outlawed men who brought back women in the past, My Lofðungr. To use as they pleased until they sold them.”

Kylo’s eyes narrowed. Trust the old man to remind him of his parents’ rules. While he prided himself on his unchallenged reputation as a fair and even-handed judge, Whitebeard expressed an intense distrust of Kylo over reasons he refused to fully disclose. The Lovsigemand wouldn’t indulge in speculation with the other men, though. He’d sailed with Kylo’s grandfather and was loyal to the death. Whitebeard knew his words were harsh, but the last thing he wanted was for the King’s son to be declared outlaw or worse over a flighty woman.

Dismissing the old man with a nod, he said, “Better with me than Jarl Brondolf.” He gave the old man a long look.

In the event the matter was solved for him when, a few moments later, the servants announced the arrival of Warlord Wren accompanied by the group of armed men. The Queen had dressed herself in a beautiful long red gown trimmed all over with lace. She wore a carved silver belt. Her hair hung below her waist, and round her head was a golden band. She received him in the great hall and having bid him welcome, offered the men refreshment and allowed him to take her to one side. The chill of that ice-cold glare sank into Kylo to his very bones. Rey didn’t wonder that stark terror wiped the look of self-assuredness from his face. She could only marvel that she didn’t feel the same fear. As massive as an ancient oak yet cowered like a wilted flower before the elfin woman was an amusing enough sight, and now he’d really fallen into shit.

“Bengeirr, come forward. And explain in plain words why you have willfully disobeyed my commands. Do you mock me?”

“I do not mock you, Mother.”

“I disagree. Your actions have caused chaos, disturbed a smooth sealing of tribal alliances, and launched an uprising amongst the Northmen! It’s as if you have been possessed by Loki himself! Whatever of my blood living within your veins, it is surely being killed by the scoundrel within!”

The Queen’s eyes were on Rey, assessing her at great length, taking in the shape of her, and then finally reaching her eyes. The girl was one of the most beautiful she had ever seen, surely an incarnation of Freya, the most beautiful of goddesses. Her hair hung below her waist, her eyes modestly lowered. She seemed much younger than the Queen had expected. Rey wondered what she saw there because at that moment even she could not describe the mixture of awe and terror that filled her. She could feel obedience building from her every pore, hoping the the Queen to be appeased and not see how unworthy she felt to be.

“Now then,” she began, her eyes were dancing with joy. “You have met her.” It was not a question.

“Have you seen something?” Kylo asked, wanting to know the answer but fearful that it would not be something he wanted to hear.

“You have met your match, Bengeirr.” His mother looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“She’s what any man would want in a woman,” Kylo responded. “Feisty, strong, vulnerable, infuriating, and bold. In the midst of the battlefield, I found her. In an instant, I knew I’d found my mate, just as the Runes said I would. A woman who heats my blood hotter than any battle. A wife chosen by Odin.”

“And she’s got balls as big as a bear’s!” Poe chuckled at these words, his gaze returning to Rey’s small form next to Kylo’s.

For Rey’s part she could read a little into the Queen’s mysterious expression and could not say for sure what she found in those eyes of hers. Mercy was a possibility — the thought making her unclench her muscles in relief, but almost certainly there was curiosity loaded there too, and possibly amusement at her new daughter. She took a small step toward Rey, reaching for Kylo and placing her hand on his shoulder. 

“Please rise and go drink your fill. The battle has been a success for now.”

“Thank you, Mother,” replied Kylo, who took her hand and kissed it in loyalty, before rising slowly.

Poe bowed respectfully, a wide grin also on his face as he turned to depart, leaving Rey alone with the Queen. She turned again and looked at Rey, her eyes dancing with mirth. The small smile on her lips made her resemble a child who had gotten away with mischief. A moment passed in silence and the older woman moved toward her slowly. She looked up at her and Rey braced herself, expecting some type of incantation or a reproachful remark at least. She moved her right arm toward Rey, inch by inch as if she did not want to frighten her. She watched it creep in her direction, passing her wrists and over her gasping heart, until her small hand reached her face. There she paused and watched Rey intently for a moment. Their eyes locked; hers warm and in control and Rey’s no doubt betraying the terrified angst she was feeling. 

Rey felt one and then another of her long fingers brush across her cheek.

“Now we are alone — finally.” Those eyes drilled into her again. “Tell me, my dear, who are you really?”

“I promise you that I am no Danish princess!” Rey told her as she took a step sideways, keeping herself close enough to make it to the door if she needed to escape.

“Then you are not as dumb as I first thought,” the Queen chuckled.

Now that was just rude.

“You never answered the question; who are you?”

“I am Rey God’s-Eye, a warrior from North Country and certainly not _his_ bride,” Rey answered again, this time with a little more bite in her tone and boldly meeting her gaze.

The woman’s eyes widened and her smile grew larger. “Praise Valhalla! Ja, I think you will do just fine,” she muttered. “I am the Queen of my people. I am the seer and the teller. I am the healer of the sick and injured. And I am the woman who will teach you how to use your magic, as well as hone other abilities you do not even know you have.” She paused. “Oh, and my name is Leidvar Akisdóttir, and I will also be the grandmother of your offspring.”

“I have no offspring.” The words tumbled out before Rey could think about how ridiculous they sounded. 

“Hmm,” the Queen said as she narrowed her eyes on her. “Mayhap I spoke too soon.”

“What?” Now Rey was just confused.

“You aren’t dumb. A little dimwitted might be a better description.”

“Loki, woman. I am not dimwitted. I am confused, and maybe in shock. Ja, definitely in shock. But I am not so confused as to know that I don’t have any offspring.”

“Of course, you do not have any offspring. You still have your maidenhead.” The Queen shot her a sharp look. “You do, don’t you? Because I have a feeling my son would be a tad irritated and likely to kill whoever took it if he finds out otherwise. He has been raised a prince with virtue and grace, although his warrior bloodline dictated he was also taught to wield a sword. And, as prince, familiar and vulgar women from other kingdoms have offered themselves to him. From what you and I know of women, they barter their bodies for position and status all the time. But, I can assure you, he has practiced equal faithfulness in love. For as long as I can remember, my boy has been married to Danmark and his service to me, reclaiming his grandfather’s domains.”

Rey rubbed her hands over her face and let out a groan. At no point during the day had she thought she would be entertaining a völva and discussing the matter of her womanhood. “First of all, I do not appreciate my virtue being questioned,” Rey said, raising a finger. Then, raising a second finger, she added, “And I have not taken a man yet, nor do I have plans to share a bed with your son and bear his half-bergbui, meinfretr offspring. And third…” She held up another finger. “What do you mean you are going to teach me to use my magic? How do you know what I can do?”

The Queen walked slowly over to one of the chairs next to the small table where she often took her meals when she did not wish to dine with the court. She kept her eyes on Rey while she took a seat. The woman leaned back as though to get comfortable and then motioned for Rey to take the seat across from her. When she had done so, the Queen began to speak.

“As I said, I am a seer. These are my lands, the clan of Skywalker.”

Rey sucked in a breath. “You are a Vikingr?”

“I am a Dane,” she corrected. “But really, I am simply a woman — a woman from another part of this world, child. I am not a foreigner from another world. Like you — a woman from this land — I have all the necessary parts that make me a woman and nothing more. We are no different.”

When she explained it like that, Rey had to admit it made the differences they claimed to be so insurmountable seem ridiculous. What did it matter that they were from different parts of the world? Did that somehow make one of them better than the other? Did the fact that Leidvar was born into a family that was royal make her worthier than one who was not? If anything Rey was more valuable because of her abilities. She might be able to heal others, but she could not see into the future.

“You said you could help me understand what I could do?” Rey reminded her.

“Get comfortable, it could take a while.”

Rey glanced at the door, a moment that did not go unnoticed by the Queen’s keen eyes.

“He is aware that we are not to be interrupted,” she told her.

“You mean the Warlord?”

The Queen nodded. “It is driving him crazy that I won’t allow him to come in and listen.”

“You can keep him out?” Rey asked hesitantly. 

“Of course, I can,” the Queen said indignantly.

“How? Do you have more magic than just the healing and seeing?”

The Queen chuckled. “It’s called being a mother and teaching respect. He will not enter because I have asked him not to, and he respects and trusts me.”

Rey’s shoulders dropped. “O,” she said simply.

“Seiðr,” the Queen began. “This is the old power that is passed through the blood. It lives in the very woven skein of a person. It is not exactly clear why some people inherit it in a family while others do not. I would presume to think it is like the fact that some siblings have blonde hair while others brown. Certain traits are passed to certain children. Perhaps the gods know who will be better capable of wielding something that can hurt or help those they encounter.” She paused, looking as though she was anticipating questions. Rey simply stared back, waiting for her to continue. 

“I am sure you learned certain things about your magic through trial and error since you have not had a tutor. For instance, you’ve learned to chant to use your magic. Your words help draw out the power that lives inside of you. Words are powerful, especially words that are spoken out loud. You must never forget that. Your words not only have the ability to heal, they have the ability to destroy.”

“Wait,” Rey held up a hand to stop her. “You mean I could hurt someone?”

The Queen nodded. “Of course. Every action has an opposite reaction. So if you are healing someone who has a tear in his skin, you can either make it better and close up the skin and repair the tissue, or you can increase the tear and damage to the tissue.”

Rey’s mouth dropped open. She felt her chest tighten as she considered the horror of such an ability. How could she ever use her magic for something so evil? Could she destroy someone if she had to? Would she use such a power against someone such as Kjartan Gunnarsson, the boy who sat on her chest and made her eat a clump of dirt? She didn’t know because as much as she abhorred the idea, she would not deny the secret comfort in knowing that she was not completely helpless anymore, especially when it came to the feral-eyed Danes that had treated her so cruelly. If she needed to hurt, them she could.

“But you need to understand,” the Queen continued. Her face grew serious and her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed on Rey. “Every use of seiðr has its consequences. When you use it to heal, it depletes you of your strength for a time. You are essentially using your life force to heal another. When you use your magic for damage, the consequences are even more detrimental. Using seiðr for dark purpose removes a part of your soul along with the magic. It can tie you to that person forever because you imprint a part of yourself on them. It is impossible to do ill to another without dire repercussions. It is imperative that you remember that before you act in such a way. Also, the more you use your magic for ill, the more you will crave the surge of power you will feel later, after the exhaustion has worn off.”

“Have you ever used your magic in such a way?” Rey asked the question before she could consider just how personal it was. 

“I have,” the Queen admitted. “One hopes to never find herself in a situation that requires she act in a way that forces her to defend herself or those she loves. But despite having magic, we are still limited in how we can affect the outcome of what we see. And there are consequences if we do attempt to intervene.”

“What would drive her to use her magic for harm?” Rey asked. She knew in her spirit that the woman before her was not evil, so she knew that the Queen must have had a justifiable reason for her actions. Regardless, Rey felt compelled to ask her motivations.

The Queen felt reluctant to tell her exactly what she’d done, but after several minutes, she finally gave in. “My father had been under the thumb of a high king of a North clan. He was basically the equivalent of a hundr. He knew what I could do. Those in my clan only know that I am a Völva. They do not know about my healing ability.”

“You don’t use it for your clan?”

She nodded her head. “I do, but while under disguise. This king kept my father by his side wherever he went. He didn’t, however, know of my ability to do harm with my magic. I had to make sure to be subtle over the years, lest he deduced I had something to do with any of his health problems. Over time I had been drawing his life force from him any time his sorcerer, Snærr, had been required to heal him. But despite my age, there is still much I do not know about magic. For instance,” she held up a finger. “By drawing the North King’s life force, I had caused a kind of madness in him. He had become more and more suspicious and mistrustful over the years. He was volatile, unpredictable, with grand ideas, and convinced himself that he was invincible. My intention was to shorten his life and to keep him from whelping pups on poor slave girls, but I did know in what way that would happen.”

“You wanted to kill him?” Rey asked, not hiding the shock in her voice. Murder just seemed so extreme. But then again, when it came down to family, community, and honor, was murder not necessary if it came to that?

“You do not understand how evil that man was.”

Rey snorted out an unladylike sound. “O, I wager I have a clue.” 

The Queen’s eyes softened understandingly, “Ja, I am sorry about that. Bengeirr explained to me what that monster did to you. We are not all savages. You fed his guts to Odin’s ravens, I trust?”

“Thanks to your son,” Rey said. “So far, he has kept me from being alone with the scarlet men.”

“That alliance is fraying. Brondolf Flame-Hair, that’s their jarl, has no concern for anyone but himself. If he continues to lead with our clan, he will drive us into extinction. There is only so much war a country can endure. Eventually, there are no more men to fight. Young boys cannot continue to assume the duties of those who have perished. They simply do not have the strength or experience to do such things.”

“And this North King who had come to your home?” Rey asked.

“I told you, he was going mad. He had to be removed from his place of kingship, and it was clear the gods were making a way for that to happen. The prophecy made it clear that Bengeirr was to rise to the chieftain’s seat of all Danes, but he could only do it with a northern woman child of light by his side. You bring him balance, and he keeps your powers grounded.”

“He explained some of what was happening between him and me,” Rey told her, suddenly needing to get as much information about her soul match with Kylo as possible. “You have a soul match and anchor?” Rey said as she tilted her head slightly. “Right?”

The Queen nodded. “Bengeirr’s father.” Her voice was full of love. “He is my anchor and my perfect match in every way. I do not have as many seasons as it looks,” she chuckled. “Did Bengeirr explain why you need him?”

Rey nodded.

“Well,” the Queen motioned to herself. “This is what happens when you continue to heal but don’t have an anchor, or are parted from them for too long. Every time I heal someone, I lose more of my life. I am aging more quickly than I should. Part of me worries for my husband’s whereabouts. I am not ready oto join my mother in slain hall yet. And then, the rest of me still has some living to do.”

“What about the bond?” Rey took a deep breath, barely able to sustain eye contact with her. “Bengeirr and I are bonded.” She said it as though they had been caught doing something they ought not to have been, which seemed ridiculous. “And now, we can sort of sense each other, I guess.” 

The Queen nodded. “That does not surprise me. Each anchor and his healer have unique abilities that evolve after their bonding. Some can read each other’s minds. Some can feel what the other feels. And some have the ability to soul speak.”

Rey’s brow furrowed. “Soul speak?”

“It is a very intimate communion where the souls are able to communicate with each other without the conscious effort of their owners. The best way I can explain it is that even when you do not realize it, your soul may need the comfort of its mate. Those who can soul speak, well, their souls reach for one another when they need it without you choosing to do so.”

The breath whooshed out of Rey as she considered the Queen’s words. The level of intimacy that something like that would bring seemed mind boggling.

“How will we know if we have the ability?” Rey asked her.

The Queen shrugged. “Everyone is different, and abilities appear of their own accord. ‘Tis not an exact fródleikr.”

“Thank you,” Rey said after a few moments. “For telling me all of this.”

The Queen smiled at her. “I like you, Rey, but then I knew that I would.”

Rey chuckled. “Must be strange to know how you’re going to feel before you feel it.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Oh,” Rey said. “One more thing. You said I would have the ability to be a priestess. When will that start?”

Another shrug. “Depends on many things.”

When she said nothing more, Rey tilted her head at her, and her brow rose. “You do realize how frustratingly vague that is, right?”

The Queen shrugged. “I am a Völva. It is my place to be vague. Otherwise, people would not think for themselves. I will not take someone’s free will to make something happen that is supposed to happen. It will either happen, or it won’t.”

The Queen stood and gave her a warm smile. “You are a good match for him. The gods knew what they were doing when they chose you for him and him for you.” 

Rey wasn’t sure how true that was, considering how much they bickered with one another. 

There was concern etched across the Queen’s face and for the first time Rey acknowledged just what a face it was. She sighed with no small amount of envy. No matter what mood the Queen was in, nothing could thwart her beauty. Her features were perfect, her complexion without flaw. Her long hair was the color of the moon on a cold winter’s night. While Rey’s resembled an iron sword after it had long been in the elements. Her skin was paler than Rey’s and that of her kin and yet she could see years of experience worn into her forehead and those high cheekbones. And then there were those eyes… They were kind, doe-like eyes now, a mesh of gold and brown in her irises, and they swam with dark intensity. 

Rey stifled another envious sigh, aware suddenly that she had been gaping at her the whole time. She wasn’t sure what was worse, being stolen and married to a madman or being constantly pursued by them. For whatever reason, she seemed to have suddenly become a hot commodity for lunatics. She chuckled.

“Pray tell, dear, what is so funny?” The Queen asked.

“Madmen want me.”

The Queen laughed as though it were the funniest thing ever. And Rey couldn’t help but smile.

The Queen nodded, rising from her seat and extending an arm toward Rey. Slowly and tentatively, Rey met her hand, making contact with her wrist. As the back of her hand brushed against the Queen, they made eye contact again and an inexplicable shiver rushed down Rey’s spine.

“You will begin your duties tomorrow. Tonight I will make provisions for you — a bath, clothing.”

Rey was not sure if this was a question or a command, but the Queen’s tone was almost hypnotic, trying to quash her defiance and make her compliant. Rey stood up next to her, fighting the urge to choose an easy life and allow her enchanting facade to overawe her. It would, Rey realized, be all too easy to just stop fighting and consent for the Queen to take care of her. 

“I would like to treat you well and with respect, but — let me be clear — if you choose to forego this marriage, you will have my understanding and love. You _will_ have my protection.”

Rey’s eyes swelled with emotion as the Queen spoke slowly and clearly to her.

“Do you understand me?”

The certain authority in her voice ignited something in Rey. Of course as a woman Rey had been given commands before by her father, brothers or sisters, and Rey often considered them to be unfair or unreasonable, but they never made her feel this way. The Queen’s words hung in the air around them — like a woolen cloak — allowing Rey to trust her. Rey swallowed hard, sizing her up, musing on what kind of a mother this Queen may be. Rey knew nothing of her, except that her son had led his men to storm and overrun her village. And yet, she had demonstrated compassion ordering Kylo to dispatch and no doubt accepting Rey into her life.

For the first time being Rey decided to sit naturally on her rebellious nature and acquiescence. “I understand,” she said, making sure that she held the Queen’s gaze as she spoke. “But why me?”

“You’ll learn. In time.” The Queen nodded, amusement filling her eyes as she did, as though she had read and understood Rey’s conflicting feelings on the subject. 

She left quickly, giving Rey a brief hug, and she wanted so desperately to ask her to stay. For some reason, she made Rey feel as though she could handle anything and everything that was headed her way as if she was easily capable. The Queen’s presence had reassured her that she was not in this alone; she was like her and understood what she was going through with the new bond with Kylo. But she knew she could not come to rely on the comfort and strength of another too much. There might come a day when she would need to stand on her own two feet, just as the Queen had done for so many years without anyone to aid her.

~oOo~

_How different the hall looks already_ , the Queen thought, peeping through the door after Kylo had gone back to the ship. After she found not a scratch to tend, he hoped to speak to her about Rey. But others had arrived and come pushing in, asking the Queen about augurs for future battles, and had then begun riding Kylo about his northern bride, so he left.

When people at the house first heard that he was coming the great feast-hall was filled with women carding and spinning wool. “Clear away the wool and prepare for the feast,” said the Queen to her women. She set four women to hanging beautiful cloths over the walls. Many of the cloths had pictures woven in them. Embroidered cloths were thrown over the carved benches which ran round three walls of the room. The tables in front of the benches were covered with white cloths. 

Thorkel and Arta brought up large bundles of straw and began scattering it over the clay floor. 

“Be careful,” said the Queen. “You are throwing the straw over the table and benches.”

They went back and picked from off the cloths the straw they had carelessly scattered. 

“Well, anyway,” she said, “You two are throwing part of the straw into the fires, and that is worse than throwing it onto the tables, because it gets burned.”

All down the middle of the floor fires were burning. In the middle of the high roof above was an opening for the escape of the smoke. 

Now the women began to put food on the table. There was white bread, butter, great silver bowls filled with curds, others filled with buttermilk, joints of meat, and wooden plates filled with roast pork and roast chicken.

“Get your largest kettle and fill it with honey that we brought from Bernicia,” said Leia to one of the men. 

By the time the honey was brought everything was ready. The Queen took her seat in a carved chair in the middle of the bench at the end of the room. Her women sat near her on the end bench. The men and boys took the other seats, and the feast began.

~oOo~

_Hold hard, Rey. Show them of what a Norsewoman is made._

The words echoed in Rey’s head, as they had some hundred times since she’d been forced from her home on Húsavík. They pounded through her mind during the attack, and when the fearsome Dane warriors captured her. 

They’d murmured in a susurration that sounded like the sea when longing wracked her body during the long voyage, heading she knew not where — south and east was all she could tell. They’d provided a muttered backdrop as she sat submerged in the hot water. The scent of freesia and bath oils wafting on the steam around her, white knees drawn up, her hair already washed and streaming wet. A matron (Inger?) stood over her, a rough cloth in her hand.

Ja, and the women had promised the Queen to make her neat and presentable, like her quarters. Who would think it would take so long?

“There is much work to be done here. You lived in a midden, girl?”

Surely, not as bad as that.

She might have been accustomed to hearing voices in her head — at least, she might be accustomed to catching others’ thoughts and feelings, a right torment now. But whose words were these, attempting to buoy her up, and bidding her to find courage? Ljúfvina’s? Nei, for she’d seen her befall a scarlet Dane’s blade, and she quite likely lay dead. Did she, rather, hear the voice of aged Yade, whose taught her the old ways? She could not tell.

A wonder she could hear any voice at all, for the great hall she now entered — the hall of the Dane warriors — roared with sound. She and the other women had been able to hear the beginning of the celebration even from their bower. And when the Dane guards — swaggering in their confidence — came to bring them hence, Rey’s resolve threatened to fail her. She tried arguing with the brutes who had seized her, tried bargaining and reasoning — for surprisingly they possessed a rudimentary knowledge of good etiquette and logistics of her safety as she moved about the grounds — all to no avail. What new horror might she go to meet? What would befall her now?

The atmosphere in the lofty hall, not turf, like theirs back home, but long and boasting high, carved, smoke-hazed rafters — assaulted Rey’s senses. Scores of male voices, uplifted in cries of triumph, echoed deafeningly, and she could feel far too much: the maddened waves of victorious glee emanating from these monsters in whose hands she and her comrades had landed, the grief of her exiled sisters. Ja, a celebration this was but not for her and those slain with her.

The white-bearded lovsigemand, up on the dais, began to speak, and the noise level in the vast room dropped. The words he spouted meant little to Rey; she had no appetite for celebration. His tone, however, made his speech an announcement, a boast tinged with self-congratulations. His boasting was met by more cheers, the intensity of which penetrated Rey’s firm defenses and made her shiver with apprehension.

 _All these men._ All big men, they wore fine cloaks over their leathers and held themselves like lords of the world. Ja, so, and lords they were, here in their own realm. The sea of masculine faces blurred in the cavernous longhouse. The blunt tidings crushed her secret wish for freedom, but so did the kingdom’s troubles, but a rusted war hammer hung near the door, a heart-warming sight, and clear proof not all Danes were blood-thirsty. 

“We Danes are men of honor! We are hospitable and generous!”

_Head up, neck straight, bear the weight proudly._

_Ja, but I am afraid._ She did not like admitting it, even to the unidentified voice. Yet she seemed to have little left of strength or dignity. Her knees trembled beneath her, and she wanted to shrink from all the eyes that turned her way, and from the reek of the place, a combination of male sweat and something far sweeter that hinted at heather ale. She whispered a prayer under her breath to the great goddess Freya, as she had so many times before — _Sustain me._ Ah, was it Freya’s voice she heard, proof that the shining one had not abandoned her, after all? Then why did she feel so utterly abandoned?

The Lovsigemand’s diatribe went on and on. 

_Freya, I cannot survive this place. Let me die now._

“...And if any man should be disgraced, he must reclaim his honor with cold, calculated bloody revenge!”

“SKÅL!”

The hall grew noisy again as goods stolen from Rey’s settlement were brought forth to be displayed and claimed — casks of fish, creels of grain, a small chest of silver that had belonged to King Ozur, the only man to ever show her fatherly kindness — gone, and even household items such as platters and cups. Shouts, challenges, and laughter rang out as the Danes contested over the spoils. At one point, a quarrel erupted and knives were drawn in what seemed like a half-mock battle. 

One of the servants took a large bronze drinking cup, shaped like a cow’s horn, filled it with ale, and carried it to Kylo, who sat now on the raised platform at the head of the hall beside Poe, in a great bearskin. He drank down to a mark a little way from the top. 

“Take it to the next,” he said. 

Poe, the next man, drank down to the second mark. The third man drank down to the third mark, and so on until the horn had been many times refilled and everyone had had a taste. 

“Now, after we have drunk by measure, each man may drink as much as he pleases,” said Kylo.

After that the table servants were kept busy by filling the drinking horns at the large vats and carrying them to the men. Soon the musicians began to play on harps, lyres, and fiddles. After they had played many airs they stopped, and one of them began to tell of Aki’s old exploits. This was the story they told:

“Great was Aki, our chief, he of the Wolf of the Waves. In his beautiful dragon went he forth. Its breast cleaved the waves of the sea, and its wings, spread aloft, sent it swiftly onward. Forward hastened the chief ever. Great storms arose, but little cared he. Hard bread and dried fish were his food, for feasting left he behind. At last the shores of East Anglia came in sight. The dragon drew nearer and rounded a cliff. Spread out on the shore lay a town. Our chief beached his ship, and then he and his brave warriors hied them thither. Soon they saw a great band of men hastening to meet them. In front was a warrior of giant size, clad in armor. ‘Fight our champion!’ shouted all the company. Forward stepped our chief. 

“Straightway began the combat. The sound of mighty blows filled the air. Well matched were they, so that their followers watched breathlessly. First the Saxon champion gained the advantage. In turn Aki handed a still heavier blow. A moment they paused. Both again attacked and both shields lay in fragments on the ground. Each side started a cheer, but each cheer died. Both Christian Saxons and Pagan Danes saw their champion standing defenseless, save for each his sword. Aki his sword threw down. So likewise did his opponent. Then began a mighty wrestling match. Like two bears struggled they. They panted and they groaned, but for long neither gained an advantage. But the might of the Danes prevailed. To earth down-reeling came they both. A great shout went up. A shout of joy from the Vikings’ men, for Aki knelt on the body of his valiant foe.”

“Did he kill him?” interrupted Kylo breathlessly.

The singer turned to Kylo and went on, “Thy grandfather a defenseless foe would never slay. ‘Nei,’ thus said Aki. ‘Up, man! A Geatish chief from Sjáland gives thee thy life.’

“And the answer came, ‘We fear thee. We fear thy powerful men. We fear thy strange sea-dragon that lieth on the beach. Our champion is defeated. Depart in peace. Do this, and great gifts will we give thee. Much honey, fine clothes, great store of money shall be thine. Only leave us in peace.’ So pleaded the eaters of Axemoor food.”

Up to this point the storyteller, or skald as he was called, had not chanted the story he was telling: now he took his harp and gave Aki’s answer in the words of old-time hero Frithjof the Bold:

“‘There’s a flag on the mast, to the northward it points,  
And the north holds the country I love;  
Back to Northland I’ll steer, and will follow the course  
Of the breeze fresh blowing above.’

“So home came our Aki, bearing much treasure.”

A wild burst of applause broke from the crowd of people as the story ended.

“Hail to Aki the brave! Hail to Aki the home-loving!” shouted one and all.

It seemed Rey had been all but forgotten in the wild melee. But then the sound of commotion suddenly dropped, and the Queen, still on the dais, gestured at the knot of women before speaking again. 

Attention within the hall sharpened. Rey, with her sensitivity to the emotions of others, felt it clearly and her heart squeezed with pain.

The other women who had prepared the feast hall — nearly two score of them — stepped forward, ranging in age from girlhood to young mothers. Poe’s wife gave her a string of glass beads, crystal and silver. She curtsied. So proper. It looked homemade. Rey wondered if she made it? Ja, that was another thing people did not know about Lord Poe. He was not Viking by blood, only by blood oath because of Kylo. 

Their saga had begun far, far from the northern icelands that were home to the Viking spirit. It had happened on the coast of Africa, when they had battled the caliph of Alexandria, and the people had come forward to pay with gold for their lives and freedom.

She had been a gift to him.

Her name was Apailana, and she knew nothing of rancor and hatred. She had taught him everything about peace. He had known only violence and she taught him tenderness. She had been taught the most exotic arts of shaping precious metals and cutting jewels to their gods in the finest shop in the land, but it had been her sweet beauty in her heart, in her unquestioning devotion to him, that had lured him into love. She had enormous almond-shaped eyes, and hair a beautiful length of black velvet dotted with diamonds, all the way down her back. Her skin was the color of honey, and she had tasted of it vowed Poe, and other sweet spices, and had smelled of jasmine. 

Poe splayed his free hand across her belly. “I am expecting now, though it does not show yet.” Rey stared, not sure why the idea shocked her so. 

She glanced toward the dais and saw, in horror, Kylo step down. Large and confident, his fur-trimmed cloak swirling about him, he approached at a deliberate swagger, his scarred face almost expressionless. The breath froze in Rey’s lungs as he strutted down the line. 

_Please, Freya_ , she prayed again incoherently. But it did little good; the man paused directly in front of her and looked her in the eye. Something of a smile crossed her face. 

Kylo scowled and crossed his arms.

Her smile wilted. Was she over-bold? Her manner was nothing like these court females. Rey swallowed hard and licked her lips.

“Smiles… you do not like,” she said in a soft, faltering voice.

“A woman’s false smiles, nei.” Danes always sounded like they spent too much time in smoky places. But his voice was deep and smooth.

“But I smile… friendliness only.”

He seized her chin in one hand, and his large rough thumb rubbed over her cheek. And in his eyes she saw… a gentle seed seeking fertile soil. Gold-hued eyes, open and beautiful as polished amber, stared back bold and curious. He was telling her she was a woman to linger over and cosset over in a bed of finest furs, and he wanted to be the one to do it, an urge that did not sit well.

_Not now, please, not now._

“You seem nervous.” Kylo pointed out.

_Really? Because I feel so incredibly comfortable._

“I apologize, my Lord. I admit the idea of becoming princess of a kingdom I am not familiar with and marrying a man I do not know is a bit daunting.”

“Surely you were prepared for such a fate at an early age.”

“I was not.”

“I was, but preparation and experience are vastly different from each other.” He seemed to consider his words before he spoke. “I suppose we will both have to learn to adapt. Being a princess is not easy. My people will look to you as an example. You must not show weakness.”

 _Pompous ass._ Who was he to tell her how to behave? He would be her husband, but that did not make him her master. “I’m sure I’m up to the task,” she said through gritted teeth.

She felt his stare as he looked down at her. “Have I offended you?” He lifted Rey’s hand and kissed it gently, and again, she thought she would die.

“Forgive my northern brusqueness, Lord.” She shook off the odd effect and managed to respond in a cordial voice. 

“I like my woman who has a lot of fight in her.” He lifted her hair and kneeled down close enough so only she could hear. She could smell the ale on his breath and feel his seductive touch on her shoulder. “Breaking you in will be more interesting.”

He had spoken so softly that he thought Rey could not have heard him. But then she clenched her hand into a fist and slowly counted to ten. Otherwise, she would have smacked the smug look off his face. She had no response to this comment, at least one that wouldn’t jeopardize the prospect of their upcoming nuptials, and, thereby, the fate of an entire kingdom. 

“You think too much of yourself, Sea King. To tame an animal, it must fear the raising of your hand.”

“I may be just ahead of you at this point.”

“How so?”

“There is more than one way to tame an animal. I’d treat her with respect and give her love.”

A mocking laugh rose in the back of her throat. All sense of safety had surely fled her existence. Anyway, the rest of this horde had looked no better than those against Fakse had warned her, with their cold eyes and avid expressions, plundering her with their sharp gazes. 

“For now, I am betrothed to my sword.” Men tipped their heads respectfully as they passed. _Solace_ , her thus named sword, pressed across her back, was an ever-present burden. The grip had a pattern of trollkors. The top of the hilt had broken off and in its place their blacksmith had forged a disc with a picture of an eye on each side.

“She can see in both directions and your enemies won’t take you by surprise,” Fakse had said, pointing to it.

Rey nodded, turning it so it caught sunlight. It made sense.

“Is it really mine? To keep?”

Fakse smiled and she knew Rey’s dream had come true — _my very own sword._ No more playing with sharpened sticks or pestering her sisters to let her use their blades.

“Remember you will be judged by how you use her so think before you act and make sure you bring honor to both your parents’ names.”

Many a warrior fought his whole life for reknown. Not Rey. She’d proved her worth with five seasons of profitable sea voyages. She had status, but not what she wanted, the one thing that eluded her: a peaceful farmer’s life. She wanted to return home and stay on their long-neglected farm… to die of old age, her hands covered with dirt, not blood. Many would scoff, but she would replace _Solace_ with a scythe.

“I would never sever you from your blade,” Kylo coughed, adding some words that he hoped would break the spell. “You needn’t sacrifice one for the other.”

He dropped her hand but he didn’t look away from her. “The other?”

“We are warriors.”

“Ja,” she said, responding to his prodding.

“Battle me.”

Her guarded survey inched upward to his broad shoulders, the sort that promised safety and protection. ‘Twas an odd notion about a man that was trained since birth to follow the warrior path and probably killed thousands of men. Rey’s lips twitched at such foolishness, and her gaze lifted higher to a scarred jaw and firm lips, then higher still.

Cunning eyes stared back.

Rey froze.

A strange enchantment mesmerized her. 

Either this man was truly her soulmate, or he was as smooth as churned butter at lying. She couldn’t tell for certain, but he didn’t feel evil to her. She didn’t have a supernatural ability to discern a person’s intentions. However, her power had, at times in the past, warned her about danger. She didn’t understand how it worked, but she guessed it was a defense mechanism to alert her when she was in the process of healing someone. During those times, she was completely focused on her task and she was vulnerable, so knowing if danger was close at hand was important.

This _sixth sense_ , as she had come to call it, had saved her in the past. Once she came upon a rabbit far from home that had been attacked by a predator. As she knelt to check the frightened creature’s wounds, she was completely unaware that a wolf was hiding in the foliage. Just as she placed her hands upon the rabbit to heal the scratches and bites, an overwhelming feeling of being watched came over her. She jumped up and yelled, spinning in place. The wolf, startled, matched her yelp and bolted away, leaving the rabbit and her behind. Since that day, she’d never ignored her _sixth sense_ when it told her danger was near. 

Rey shook her head and refocused. Such a beast would devour the weak. To her relief, that wolf had disappeared. Though dangerous, she willed this two-legged wolf closer. The price was tension coiling inside her. 

Like a predator measuring prey, Kylo’s hard stare traced her frame, lingering at the curve of her hip. Peculiar warmth poured through her as she stared back. He did not leer as other men had, but Rey recognized her male’s interest. 

“Do they know about putting out porridge for the nisser?” Rey asked in a loud whisper, attempting to make conversation.

The innocent words sent a knife through his heart. Nissers… He’d nearly forgotten about them. His mother had believed in them as well, declaring the nisser would only stay if he put out porridge and said goodbye to him. He’d scoffed that last time. By the time he returned in the dead of winter, the farm had near failed and his family was under attack. He abruptly stood.

“Hush, Rey. You have too many notions in your head. I have enough to think about. Nissers indeed.”

“But you put the barley on to seep, that works,” she persisted.

“No porridge,” he snapped, his head erupting with tremendous pain. “A man should take pride in the land he owns. Having pride in something requires making it shine. Speaking of,” he said as he looked down at her again, his gaze wandering over her form. “We will have to do something about your clothing — even for a warrior it is much too plain for the princess of Skywalker. I expect you to look like the treasure you are.”

Apailana gasped indicating she heard his words. Poe’s mouth pressed to a thin white line. The last thing Kylo needed was to anger the future princess. He frowned. The words had come out far harsher than he’d intended. “My dogs tend to gobble porridge up given half the chance. Nissers respect hard work. When one realizes how hard I’ve worked, then he will come.”

“It is quite an old hall,” Rey added.

“Anyone can see how hard Aki worked. The stout walls keep out the wind and rain. Remember that ruined hut you were sheltered in?”

“It was a fine hut before you Danes stalked her shores.” Rey stifled a small yawn and her eyelids fluttered. “I know a nisser will be here soon. This place is safe and nissers require such things.” 

Safety. A lump came into Kylo’s throat. And for the umpteenth time, he wished he could have made the isle farm safe for her. He scrutinized her as his eyes roamed over the feast hall. For a while Rey and Kylo spoke of nothing and he looked appropriately like a sheep waiting for slaughter and said all that was proper, but it did not take him long to come to the real purpose of his approach.

“My deeds have cost you a pang, leaving you alone and in a most difficult situation, my lady. I know you don’t need a protector.”

Rey heard in his words the echo of the Queen’s and felt a frisson along her spine. Heart beating much faster, she knew what was coming and waited for it.

“But I would like to be that man.” He paused, eyeing her with unwonted awkwardness. “I do not deserve it, but I am in excellent health and well able to protect you. I can also swear my undying loyalty and devotion.”

Rey felt her face growing warmer and for a moment her amber eyes veiled. Kylo, mistaking the reason, drew in a deep breath.

“Let me protect you, Rey. I do not ask that you love me now, but perhaps in time that may come. Meanwhile, be assured that you will be cherished, my lady.”

Hearing an unmistakable note of sincerity, she looked up swiftly, meeting his gaze.

“Does it surprise you to hear that?”

“I had not thought… that is—” She broke off, floundering.

“Have you any idea how beautiful you are?” The hunger in his eyes as he looked Rey over awakened her little acorn and brought it to life, he went on. “From the first moment I saw you I wanted you for my wife. You have perfect birthing hips and breasts that are more than adequate for nourishing my children.”

Rey was not the only one to gasp that time.

“Lord, such compliments are not appropriate.” Rey desperately wanted to fold her arms across her chest to keep him and everyone from looking at her. 

His lips tightened into a straight line. Rey could tell he wanted to say the right things. She tried to remain composed. “I’ve been lonely all these years. I think you’ve been lonely too. May not two such comfort each other?”

Rey nodded. “I think that perhaps they may, my lord.”

For a moment he did not move, the dark eyes intent on her face. “Then you will marry me?”

“There would be certain conditions.”

“Name them.”

“That the rights of my own mind as well as my body are protected and that you act as overlord of Skywalkerland and not me.”

“Agreed. If you wed me, I shall give you my ear.”

“I would also ask for a decent interval of mourning for my fallen comrades.”

“It shall be as you ask. A prayer shall be held for the honored dead who will enter Valhalla.”

“Then on the first full moon after Lithasblót I will become your wife.” Rey’s voice was perfectly level as she gave him the commitment he sought.

Lithasblót. The festival celebrating the beginning of harvest. Men and women considered their accomplishments and asked the gods for strength to achieve what lay ahead. Farmers culled animals deemed too weak to survive winter. Though the season of snow and ice was far off, Vikings refused to waste fodder on unworthy livestock. 

It was a time of cold, hard decisions.

And while all of Skywalkerland had feasted, Kylo had eaten in silence that first night last autumn before disappearing into the woods until the festival passed. Now taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips. “It is an honor I scarce hope to have.”

“I will try to make you a good wife,” she replied.

The proposed date was three full moons hence, but if Kylo hoped for an earlier date, he said nothing. Having got what he wanted he was prepared to give a little ground, knowing it would do his cause no harm.

“Will you pledge your hand to me openly, Rey?” he asked then. “I do not ask for a huge feast — I know I must be repugnant to you in the circumstances — but perhaps a small gathering?”

Rey was not surprised by the request. What it meant was a public declaration of intent. It also made clear to all concerned that Rey was spoken for, that she lay under the protection of a rich and powerful lord. From the moment their betrothal was announced she was as good as his and no man would touch her. It also meant a respite, time to grow used to the idea of the bargain she had just struck.

“It shall be as you wish, my lord.”

He smiled. “I am content.”

She had wondered if he would try to kiss her, but to her relief he made no further attempt to touch her. He took his leave not long after that and Rey watched him celebrate with his men. Then she went in search of the Queen.

Amid the crush of bodies, they filed out of the hall and into the surrounding darkness. The Queen gently guided Rey toward the side of the structure. The air inside this new environment was different. There was warmth and the scent of some foreign spice Rey did not know. Tall candle lights lined the edges, casting light into the darkest shadows of the pavilion. They made their way in silence to the far rear corner, behind her throne. This was an entirely private area, distinct from the rest of the space. In front of them was a hǫrgr made with great skill and covered with iron on the top. On this there was a fire which would never go out — they called it sacred fire. The Queen turned to face Rey, her face half lit by the large candles to her right. 

The older woman listened in silence, her face impassive as she took in the news. 

“Do you think it was wrong to accept him?” Rey asked at length. 

The Queen glimpsed skin where Rey’s tunic opened at the neck. Her chest was tan. Noticing the small detail struck her as seeing an inner sanctum, as personal as the scratched amulet honoring Tyr. A spear had been stamped into the metal, the symbol for the Viking god of war known for courage. Yet, few spoke of Tyr. Thor, Odin, Loki, Freya. The folk of Húsavík relished discussing those Norse gods along with tales of giants and women warriors flying across the skies.

The well-worn metal dangling from her neck captivated her, a tell-tale secret of the man who once wore it. 

“You did what you thought you had to, child, both for yourself and for the North.”

“Kylo will be a good husband and he will restore these lands to their former glory. I cannot bear to see things thus.”

“I know, but...” The Queen hesitated. “Can you be a wife to him?”

“I must, Mother Leidvar. There is no choice now. Surely you see that?”

“Ja.” She put her arms around the girl’s shoulders. “I think you have nothing to fear. It is my view that he will be a doting and most indulgent husband.”

Rey nodded and tried to think positive thoughts. Neither of them mentioned the rune cast.

~oOo~

The betrothal feast went as planned, a small and select gathering of neighbors and friends who came together to see the couple pledge to each other. It was in every way a most suitable match and no one thought of the feuds held from generations ago of the pair soon to be married. It was widely held that Kylo was a clever and knowing man for at a stroke he doubled his holdings and gained a most beautiful wife into the bargain. Political dung as it was. Kylo wore the same sort of clothing as all the Dane men — leather leggings covered to the knees by laced leather boots, a woven tunic, bracers, and enough weapons to arm several ordinary men. Over it all he wore the shaggy black fur cloak which lent him such a feral quality. The bristling garment gave him an additional bulk he naturally possessed. And to have that madman be her first… _Pray on it, Rey. Pray hard._ His hair, a wild mane that reached his shoulders, looked blue in the leaping firelight; his angular yet soft face, nearly expressionless, was given a quizzical tilt by that scar which bisected his right eyebrow. No one could pray harder than Rey already had. She’d sent nothing but a stream of prayers to Freya since the ordeal began. What good came of it? Still the úlfhéðnar had spoken for her. Rey in her blue gown, embroidered at neck and sleeve, her brown hair braided with matching ribbons, looked very fetching indeed. It was noticed that her prospective groom could hardly keep his eyes off her and was most assiduous in plying with her food and silver-lain horns of mead, carving choice cuts of meat and serving her with his own hands.

In truth, Rey had little appetite but did her best to hide it. Her heart was unwontedly heavy but, unwilling to disappoint her guests with a glum face, she smiled graciously and tried to look as though she were enjoying herself. For a woman who had faced death many times without a twinge, it was odd that the coming confrontation had turned her insides to a quivering mass of jelled curd. But she was also not the first reluctant bride. As she noticed the gaze Kylo bent upon her, the reality of the situation hit her with force — in three full moons from now, they would be married and he would take her to his bed. She must give herself to him whenever he wished and, eventually, she would bear his children. If the look in his eye was aught to judge by, he intended to sire many. Rey took another sip of mead to steady herself. She had wanted this, had agreed to it of her own free will. Now she must live with the consequences. Once more, desperately, she sought inward knowledge of him, but his mind remained as closed as his expression. Did he guard himself from her? But why should he, when he knew all of her abilities? If he was to be her husband she must get to know him, to know his likes and dislikes, to discover what would please him. She had no doubt of her ability in learning to run this household efficiently for the Queen had been schooled in domestic duties since childhood. The rules of the bedroom were unknown territory, though Kylo would honor the Queen’s wishes and sequester himself. 

“There will be no sexual folly outside of wedlock, and that’s the last I will hear of it, or see of it.” 

Kylo seemed to turn an even whiter shade of pale and sputtered, “Of course not, we will be wed. She will be Lady of Skywalker!” 

The Queen didn’t think she would ever be able to get that vision of him naked out of her head. She couldn’t even contemplate the vision becoming a nightly routine. She whirled around as to signal the end of that particular conversation. Rey reminded herself sharply that it was not necessary to love for a marriage to work. As long as there was respect. Please, Sjöfn, she prayed silently, let it be alright. 

The feasting done and the hour growing late, the women retired, leaving the hall to the men. The Queen knew the hard drinking was about to begin and had given orders to the servants to keep the guests piled with ale and mead as long as they wanted it. Rey was not sorry to make her excuses and bid her future husband a goodnight. He kissed her hand and pressed it warmly. From his flushed face and the hot glow in his eyes it was clear he had a lot to drink, but his speech was unslurred and his balance still unimpaired.

“Goodnight, Lady Rey, and sleep well. Were this were our wedding night I might share that bed with you.”

She managed a smile. “In good time, my lord.”

Then she was gone, leaving the warriors’ hall behind and seeking the sanctuary of the women’s bower.

Outside the house it was still light, for this was evening of one of the long summer days in the south country. But inside the great feast-hall it was growing dusky, for little daylight could come in through the smoke-hole in the roof. The fires on the floor were dying down, and the light from them became less and less. Even the pine torches on the walls began to flicker and grow dim.

“Come, my ice-forged drengir, it is bedtime, with more space to stretch out in than on board ship,” said Kylo.

The beds were built into the walls behind the benches. The men climbed into the beds, pulling big fur cloaks up over themselves, and in a few minutes were dreaming of the future filled with treasure.

Kylo moved soundlessly through the soft, lingering light that colored the world. In his head he could still hear the roars of laughter and celebration that had rebounded in the great hall. He hated all of it — the posturing, the boasting, the recounting of feats in battle and the gloating over everything from the sharpness of one’s axe to the seaworthiness of one’s longship.

Kylo made a face there in the hazy evening. Not a man for boasting, he would prefer to avoid the whole display if he could, and only attended at the summoning of the Queen.

He hesitated when he saw the sun-soaked stones, salted by the wind, just ahead. What had made him act like he had the other night? He quaffed no potion; the madness did not ride him. Instead, as he knew full well, he had followed impulse.

Ah, but that was something he did but seldom. Indeed, he could count the occasions on one hand. When not in his battle rage, he had his emotions always in hand. They fled him when he fought, along with the ability to perceive most sensations. He remembered taking none of the deaths he carried. And he made a habit of refusing to feel sympathy for anyone. 

Save the shieldmaiden in his dreams.

And, he asked himself as he approached his own door, who was this woman that befell him? Surely just that. 

Yet something about the expression in her eyes and — ja — the emotions he felt emanating from her, had made him act.

Fool, fool, fool, he chastened himself, even as he pushed open the door and went in.

~oOo~

In a sour mood, Kylo brought Sleipnir into the stable. Restlessness and dissatisfaction stirred inside him. Just back from a raid and already he chafed at staying put. She was soaked from the rain. Steam rose from her back. Her black mane was dripping, but her dark brown eyes were still calculating. She hated everyone. She only followed him. She only let him ride her. He thought it was because he saved her from a mudhole, but maybe it was because she sensed he was different, too. Sleipnir was large for a horse, bigger than all the others, and the color of a storm cloud. He wondered if she felt out of place, like him, so she stuck to him.

Sleipnir had become a loyal steed, a warrior, and dare he say, part of his family. 

“What was that about last night?” Poe asked as he leapt off his own horse.

Kylo took the reins off Sleipnir and patted her neck. She dove her nose into the barrel and gulped large swallows of water. “Just a mother concerned for her daughter-in-law. That’s all.”

“It’s perfectly natural for a man to want to plow his betrothed, you know.” Poe plucked a piece of hay from the stack and started picking his teeth.

Pure rage flooded Kylo’s veins from how he spoke of her. He threw the saddle down and gripped Poe by the front of his armor, bringing him close to his face.

“If I ever hear you talk about her like that again, I’ll give you a scar to match mine. Are we clear?” He tilted his head and curled his lip as Poe’s eyes calculated him.

Poe showed no fear. He only nodded.

“Ja. Apologies. I meant no harm.”

Kylo let him go. Even with the cold rain, he felt hot from anger, and it was making him sweat. He wanted to admit to someone that he wanted to do more than plow her. He wanted to claim her soul. He wanted her to be his in every sense a woman could belong to a man. He wanted her heart. Happy he would be to win the joy of such a consort. 

All he could think about was her. Nothing else existed but her. Until she was beside him where she belonged, nothing else would matter. She was no longer a faceless woman foretold by a vague prophecy. She was the woman his soul had bonded with, the woman his heart had chosen. But, would a woman like that ever want a man like him?

“Make sure Sleipnir gets fed,” he ordered. His teeth hurt from clenching his jaw so tight. He slammed the doors of the stable open and stepped out into the rain, hoping it would cool not only his temper but the lust scorching his body. 

“You have that look in your eyes,” Poe said.

“What look?” 

“The one that makes me wonder if you still have a soul.”

Kylo’s jaw clenched. “I still have a soul, but it is not my own anymore. It’s Rey’s, and if I lose her, I will no longer have a soul. Do you understand what that means?”

“Ragnarök?”

“Exactly, my friend. Ragnarök will reign in Midgard, and Fenrir shall be wetted.”

He had three full moons, to make her his, or he would lose her forever when taking her hand at the wedding feast. 

He was not a man who lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Velkominn heim, Lofðungr — “Welcome home, Prince!”
> 
> Allt vel, þakka, drengir mín — “Well, thanks, my warriors!”
> 
> Vend or Wend — Slav.
> 
> Lovsigemand — a lawspeaker or lawman. The Vikings had no written laws. However, a man referred to as a “law reader man” opened the Alþing by reading the laws, which he had memorized by heart. This was done to ensure that no one changed the laws.
> 
> Framsynn — gifted with insight into the future.
> 
> Skirja — heifer; a young cow.
> 
> Bergbui — an inhabitant of the hills, a giant.
> 
> Meinfretr — stinkfart. 
> 
> Hundr — hound.
> 
> Seiðr — (SAY-der) “cord, string, snare” is a form of pre-Christian Norse magic and shamanism concerned with discerning the course of fate and working within its structure to bring about change, which was done by symbolically weaving new events into being. To do this, the practitioner, with ritual distaff in hand, entered an ecstatic trance in order to be able to interact with the world of spirit. The practitioner’s intended task typically involved a prophecy, a blessing, or a curse.
> 
> Fródleikr — learning, knowledge, with added idea of sorcery.
> 
> Sif — wife, kindred, relationship. The name is born in Norse mythology by a golden-haired fertility-goddess who was the wife of Thor and mother of Thrud. She was also considered to be the goddess of agriculture, her emblem being ripened corn. 
> 
> Sjöfn — (SYO-FN) from the Old Norse sjafni (love). The name is born in Norse mythology by an attendant of Frigg, a goddess whose duty was to kindle love between men and women. 
> 
> Hǫrgr — (plural hǫrgar) a heathen place of worship, being an altar erected on some high place.


	9. The Peace Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hail to you, o beloved readers! Thank you for all of your support ❤️ This chapter is dedicated to all the mamma warriors ⚔️

_The coward believes he will live forever if he holds back in battle. But in old age he shall have no peace though spears have spared his limbs._

~ The Hávamál, Book of Viking Wisdom

“So it is true.”

Kylo’s head jerked up when the doors flew open on their hinges, flooding the dwelling with dawn light. He knew that voice, and annoyance touched him even before he beheld the woman’s form outlined in stark brilliance. She went on, “I swear I did not believe it. The great Kylo Wren taking a bride.”

“Anaborg,” he growled. Had the woman no decency, bursting into the knights’ hall at dawning? Ja, well, he knew she had no decency, this one — like a she-pig on the prowl, she would venture anywhere. 

“Where is she? I want to get a good look at the creature you chose.” Anaborg sashayed in, moving with deliberate sensuality she wore like a fine cloak.

Kylo leaned against a post, holding a drinking horn casually against his thigh and slanted a look at Rey, who had been caught at the far side of the hearth. Praise Odin she had not run while he slept. She looked hesitant and unhappy, though of course she could hear nothing of what Anaborg said.

As evenly as he could manage, he told Anaborg, “If you were curious, you should have been in the hall last night.”

Anaborg shrugged. She wore her hair loose this morning, in a tumbled river of wheat, her dress half fastened across her generous bosom. Her eyes reached for Kylo before she turned them on Rey with dimming interest.

“I was otherwise engaged last evening. You and your fellows were away a long while raiding. A woman has needs.”

Needs. Insatiable, the men called her behind her back and sometimes to her face. Kylo knew her to be heedless and spiteful as well. She had ruined no less than three legitimate marriages — and laughed about it after. 

And all this in the pursuit of her desire for power and to lie with every warrior who fought beneath Skywalker’s banner. She had not yet lain with Kylo or any of his sworn sword-brothers and would not. He would throttle her first. 

Not but he had begrudged she was beautiful. Even now, fresh from some other man’s bed, she looked bewitching to the roomful of noisy Vikings, the lush curves beneath her clothing making promises Kylo believed she would eagerly keep. 

He had seen her naked once when, like now, she came pushing in here and disrobed for him. And it was that day he went up into the cliffs. He took in his hand a hazel branch, and went to a rocky eminence that looked inward to the mainland. Then he took a horse’s skull and fixed it on the branch. After that, in solemn form of nid, he thus spake: “Here set I up a Nidstang, and this curse I turn on Anaborg Withulfsdóttir.” There he turned the horse’s skull landwards. “This curse I turn also on the guardian-spirits who dwell in this land, that they may all wander astray, nor reach or find their home till they have driven out of the land all young she-pigs who have wholly befouled their pricks.” This spoken, he planted the branch down in a rift of the rock, and let it stand there. The horse’s skull he turned inwards to the mainland; but on the branch he cut runes, expressing the whole form of nid. He’d also heard stories from other warriors about the acts she performed in bed — and out of it. 

Now her gaze plundered Rey, who stood in her sturdy brown wool barely covering ample curves from an error when her mistress sized her, the contrast between them was ludicrous. Anaborg tossed her head. “That? She is not even beautiful. And she is a skitkarl.”

Again Kylo shot Rey a look, took a drink, glad she could not hear. Anaborg rounded the hearth and drew closer to the shieldmaiden, who withdrew a step. 

“You told me you did not want a woman. Why this one? Why now?”

The very question Kylo had asked himself without answer. 

“Be gone, Anaborg. Nothing here concerns you.”

“Oh, but it does.” Anaborg turned upon him eyes bright with curiosity and blue as the far sea. “My grandfather was Valdyr’s best man. You are meant to be mine.”

“I am not!”

She veered course, abandoning any interest in Rey to approach him instead. “Ja, I have always known you are the man — the one man — who could satisfy me.” Her lips parted. “I want you in a rage. Rough as you like.”

She already bore bruises on the white skin at her throat and lower down. Who had inflicted them? Could she imagine he could want another man’s leavings? He shuddered inwardly.

Sternly he said, “I am not interested. I have chosen a woman for my empire. Someone that will elevate me in the eyes of the Gods. Let it end with that.”

“Do not tell me you truly intend to take her to your bed? You are wasted on her, Kylo.”

“I swear, you veslingr, I shall have my mother destroy you and savor it.”

Kylo seethed. The impulse that had moved him to claim Rey went beyond intention. 

Anaborg widened her dark-fringed eyes at him. “Even so, it does not mean we cannot lie together. I have never let another woman — bride or otherwise — deter me.”

“I assure you I have no desire to lie with one woman and betray her with another.”

Anaborg laughed. “You are mad; it is what all men desire. And I am surprised. Your madness has never before spilled over from the battlefield. You told me you did not experience lust, Kylo. That all your passion burned away in the fighting fit.” 

Still true. But he had certainly taken Rey out of lust — the same look he had so clearly seen in her eyes. 

“Go,” he said again. “Leave me to my life.” Such as it was — bleak and dark, lit by intermittent flame. 

She stalked her way around to his side of the hearth and paused, her demanding gaze fixed on his face. She lifted one hand and traced the scar on his right cheek with a finger. He had to stiffen in order to keep from recoiling. 

“This is not over, Wren,” she whispered. “I will yet lie with you.” 

He seized her wrist in his fingers. He knew his grip could fracture bone. His strength had been honed by the excess to which the madness pushed him. His appearance, as he well knew, belied his savagery. 

Anaborg did not flinch; instead her expression became enraptured.

Very softly, even though he knew Rey could not benefit the words, he said, “I have warned you not to touch me.” He released her with a shove.

“It seems your new wife-to-be is destined for many lovely nights.” Anaborg’s gaze skipped down Kylo’s body. “A pity.” She turned at last to the open doorway, where she paused again and flung a look at Rey. “But what more does a filthy Nor’woman deserve?”

Kylo growled wordlessly as she stepped out into the sunlight. Hands fisted, he shoved the door shut with his hip, and returned the interior of the hall to its customary gloom. 

Shooting a look of his own at Rey, he wondered if he should try to explain Anaborg’s intrusion. In truth, as his betrothed, she warranted an explanation — she would not be expected to do as bidden and put up with whatever occurred between these walls. And she would undoubtedly encounter Anaborg again and thus needed some warning.

“Sit.” He accompanied the words with a gesture, and she sank down beside the now-cold hearth. Carefully, he spoke, for he learned a long time ago to never trust a mountain cat when she stopped snarling and never trust a woman when your back was turned. “That woman is called Anaborg Withulfsdóttir. The Taker’s granddaughter. You will stay clear of her.”

Rey’s gaze traveled to the door. If only he could be sure she was as honest as she was plowable, his shieldmaiden, even if she wasn’t the woman in the prophecy, but then with a bejeweled collar around her neck... it was hard to tell whether her throat was blushing from passion or deceit.

Rey nodded. 

“Good.” He looked around the room. “Got a problem with your clothes?” He pulled her very close to his face, her eyes were merciless daggers that bore into his. “What happened here?” he demanded. 

“I’m sure you have better things to do than worry about my tunic,” she snapped. 

“Looked like you needed help,” he said, eyeing her low neckline. “You usually do.”

“You could be the last man standing,” she said, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, “and I’d not ask for your help.” She snatched a bearskin pelt to her chest. Daubing the excess ale bothered already sensitive skin.

His strong hand reached out to catch the end of one of her braids and curl it around his finger. They both watched as the light caught it and turned the brunette strand to gold. “Do I rattle you?”

She laced her fingers in her lap and spoke plainly. “ _I_ am the woman you want.” His breath hitched, but he didn’t shift his attention from the strand of hair he caressed. “Why have you ignored me all this time?” she whispered.

“Nei, Rey. You were never ignored. There was never a moment when I wasn’t aware of you. Any time you were near, I felt it even without seeing you. My body knew you were there and I couldn’t help but hear you, smell you.” He brought the strand of hair to his lips and closed his eyes and he breathed in her scent. “I could never forget the way you smelled and the way it felt to sleep with my face buried in your hair when we were on the seas and even before then.”

“But you have stayed away? Why?” He groaned and pulled back only enough to look at her. “I cannot plumb your soul. What the Helheim you are looking at?!”

“You.” His graveled voice rumbled with humor. It was a good effort to restore her faltering confidence. 

“At least we know your eyes work.”

Kylo’s grin split wider. “The rest of me does too.”

~oOo~

“Kadlin. I need you to fill these pitchers. Can you do that?”

Kadlin forced a smile. “Ja, Mother.” She dunked a new pitcher in the ale, the grainy sweet aroma filling her nose. With tempers on edge, they’d have to tread with care. The turmoil could make it easier to move unnoticed, except for the red-bearded Arnmundur. His lustful glint cut across the longhouse. The leering weasel had pawed Lady Rey’s bottom when she’d passed earlier. His breath’s slimy feel still lingered on her neck when he whispered how he’d use her later. Noblewomen and servant girls alike made easy prey for the lust-addled warrior and could never refuse him. He had a score of complaints against him even from the other men’s wives. 

Not Lady Rey.

Stars burst before his head. His grasp eased. He was going to black out; he knew it. She grabbed his hair, and smiled grimly as he cried out in pain. She didn’t lift her skirts for warriors. For no man.

“Good. The meat is almost done, and I fear if we don’t feed these men soon, the Lady Rey won’t have the patience to hear what our Lord has to say. They have the stomachs of dogs.” The tall cook walked to her cooking fire, a long gold braid swinging from the crown of her head.

“How many times do you think the Queen will tell Mother that the Taker’s granddaughter cannot eat pickled herring because it does not agree with her?”

“At least another dozen.” Mergret chuckled. “The better question is how many more times will Mother listen before she makes an entire menu based on pickled herring just to irritate her?”

“Uhhh,” a gasp. Gold droplets splattered freckled cleavage. The skin would be sticky all day.

Rey’s pitcher plopped into a barrel of ale. The woman with eyes practically glowing with rage cussed a blue streak under her breath, and Mergret rescued the bobbing vessel. 

The poorly cut tunic brought her much unwanted attention. “May the Queen prove generous in dressing me.”

Mergret set the pitcher on the table where leeks awaited slicing. Sighrit, or Cook as they called her, wiped her hands with quick, efficient swipes. Servants came and went. She was not known for her patience, but she was the best cook in the kingdom and, therefore, got away with quite a bit. The King and Queen, and everyone else for that matter, knew better to annoy her or they’d be eating boiled cabbage stew for a month. 

“I wonder what happens when she eats pickled herring?” Rey inquired. She pinched the sopping bodice. If she could move the neckline a finger’s breadth or two higher, she’d be decently clothed. 

She crouched behind the barrel and yanked up her neckline. A stitch snapped. The strained fabric hardly budged. Chin to chest, she exhaled and tugged again with both hands, jostling her breasts for room that wasn’t there. If she could cut off her sleeves and shield them...

“Maybe her face swells up like a huge turnip and she cannot breathe,” Kadlin, who tended to be the bloodthirsty one of the group, offered.

The fine hairs on the back of Rey’s neck stood on end as a pair of familiar black eyes pierced her from the shadows where the savage stood, a thumb hooked in his belt. 

Kylo.

Cheeks flushed hotly, a groan caught in her throat. There was no graceful way out of this. 

She released the awkward grip on her bodice and raised her head, meeting the Sea King’s mocking grin with a tight-lipped smile. He could not seem to get his fill of looking. 

“Does everything have to end in death with you?” Mergret asked Kadlin.

Kadlin shrugged. “Like any of us would be sad if the bitch got what she deserved,” she raised her voice above the din. “It would make for an entertaining morning, and our Princess would be avenged.”

Rey stifled a laugh. The cook’s daughters had wicked tongues. She may have been a lady of the court and kingdom, but ladylike she was not.

“I do not want the poor woman to die because of some pickled herring mishap,” Rey quickly said, knowing she would feel dreadful if Kadlin’s words came to pass. “I do not want to marry him, but I do not want him dead. I just wish we could find another way to make an alliance.”

“Do not hold your breath, dear Princess,” Kadlin said with a sigh. “Vikings are not known for their creative thinking.”

That night was the first she spent completely alone since she was forced to leave her home. She should have been delighted, but wasn’t. She felt abandoned and forsaken. She paced back and forth, hoping Kylo would show up. Goddesses, what was wrong with her? She wanted her captor with her? She told herself that she needed to think about her current situation and come up with some answers as it was unfathomable to consider leaving it this way for any length of time. 

Kadlin plucked a copper-banded bucket off a high peg where eight more buckets lined the wall. She counted the earthen pitchers waiting to be filled. “You could ask for your freedom.” 

“Freedom?” Rey’s voice notched higher. 

“Better to serve a _wealthy_ master like ours. That means security,” Mergret told her.

One Rey thought she’d found serving the Lady Leidvar and her warrior son. The Queen was a reasonable soul, the kind of woman Rey believed would listen when she raised the subject of her freedom.

“You don’t want to be a free woman? To say no to a man? To stand as his equal and speak your mind?” Viking women did, and men listened. The sight of it stunned Christians. No one had ever asked if Rey wanted freedom. Northmen and women lived with passions as sharp and bright as their long summer nights. Nothing could contain them. 

Growing up a curse formed her differently. Fighting was her currency. Survival was all she knew. Yet, she loathed men appraising her like livestock. Her favorite trick to evade attention, ply a man with ale until he passed out.

She winced. Sometimes the ploy didn’t work and the worst was when she had proclaimed that any man could have her and all her father’s property as her dowry without paying the customary bride price if they could defeat her in combat.

What a start to her career as a shieldmaiden had been! Fighting off a fat drunken imbecile while everyone laughed. The jeers had turned to respectful silence when she met the next contestant, a respected but elderly warrior and disarmed him as well, followed by a young warrior. After that, the challenges had dried up.

“Freedom.” The word tasted unusual on Rey’s tongue. Ja, she wanted it. Badly. But, she hoarded the truth. Life was safer if no one knew what she truly wanted. A secret hope couldn’t be taken away. Scratching her thumbnail across the barrel’s wood grain, she finished, “I’ve been a curse since my birth. This cruel life is what I know.”

“The Warlord is kinder than his reputation. Laboring for Lady Leidvar has been a gift to us all,” reminded Mergret. The older woman was more mother hen than exacting mistress.

Rey rested both elbows on the barrel’s lid, her cat-like green eyes flaring at the sight of the woman touching Kylo. _Well, if I had to be owned, I wouldn’t mind being owned by him._

Kadlin looked blissfully at the roomful of warriors. “Ja. I need a lord dripping with gold, someone to make life easier.”

Rey giggled. Kadlin was a cook. But a smart one. She winked at Rey and bent to fill another pitcher. There was one thing. With the exception of that fiery-haired bastard, Rey tired of men grabbing her. And she was finally free of that.

Hiding emotions was a skill she had mastered long ago. Warriors, especially the women, couldn’t afford the luxury of honest feelings. Those who fought didn’t live long, survival had taught her as much. But honestly, leaving her land was awful, no longer the master of her cottage on the banks of blue-whaled Skjálfandi. Her father or King Ozur would’ve been more than happy to trade her for peace, prestige or political gain. She would be forced into an unwise alliance by now with a man who had little respect for her, instead of giving her time to choose the capable warrior she married and that thought brought bile to the back of her throat. How did she really feel about Kylo? And how did he feel about her? Was she his enemy, his betrothed, the other half of his soul? The chambermaids above them didn’t whisper when they were in her presence, but she could only surmise what they were saying about her when they weren’t. 

“I say find one master who guards his house well and all others leave you alone. Life needn’t be so hard for the likes of us.”

The voice flowed nicely to Rey’s ear, the kind of voice a man could listen to on a dark, cold winter’s night.

“I know what you want, less work or none at all. Toil and drudgery is our lot.”

The first girl’s grin faded. “Would I ever stay in a settled home and have a place to live under my final breath?”

“What about him?” The second girl bumped her shoulder, her gaze sliding to Kylo. “I vow he’d guard a woman well.”

“The Warlord? You will shut your mouth!” She wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t want him anyway to have control of me. He’s too… too…”

“Too handsome? Too strong? Or too smart to let you lead him by the nose?”

“Nei. More like too big, too wild, and too… too…” She huffed, searching for the right word. “... too _hard_ a man.” 

“For you to manage you mean,” the second girl said, tossing back her braid. “I’ve heard highborn ladies whisper about him. They seem to like him very much.”

A hot pang hit Rey. No wonder the surly sea king didn’t touch her. She didn’t even get a pinch, and she deserved that at least! Why would he when highborn women beckoned from lavish, fur-covered beds? While he’d only let her hump his leg like a lawless hound!

She dragged another pitcher through the ale, banging the insides of the barrel. _And those highborn ladies are welcome to him!_

Kylo bent his head over the woman. Light from a hanging soapstone lamp shined on black-brown locks curling at his nape. He was a rarity, a Viking with black hair. The uniqueness made him stand out among the people of Danmark. Did highborn women like his hair that way?

She set the earthen vessel down with a satisfying thud. He was the wrong man for lots of reasons. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t put them into words.

“Kadlin. Come quick.” Cook rose from her cooking fire, balancing a platter of meat. Lips pursed, she raised an eyebrow at the unfilled pitchers. “Take the pitcher from Lady Rey before she does something rash and serve the ale.”

Kadlin balanced a full pitcher on her hip. The black-eyed warlord wagged an empty horn.

“Seems I’m just in time,” Kadlin said when she approached. “Mercy to those who bring ale to the tits.”

Rey was reassured by the cook’s daughters swearing to the fact that Kylo had never brought another woman into his private bedchamber before. Kylo would run about unfettered, playing with the other children who lived in the longhouse, most of whom belonged to staff. Kadlin was about Rey’s age, still young enough that her mother and sister ignored her flightiness, but at four and twenty, Mergret was expected to behave in a more mature manner.

“Women tend to avoid the Lofðungr, all but that Anaborg, who follows after him constantly since they were pups.”

“I have heard it said she has had every warrior here, save him, Lord Poe, and his fealty.”

When female guests stayed at the Skywalker longhouse, Kylo never heeded them and bedding any of them in any chamber was never even a thought in his mind. He thought them quick-tongued and flirtatious, but years of rutting men left their hearts brittle. No man could truly touch them.

The sisters were giggling about their sleeping together on his great longship — the fleet in which Rey had arrived — floating on the still water, along with many smaller vessels in the bay; well they _did_ sleep together, but… Rey had no need to hear this Anaborg’s words to tell what she’d been about. Evidently she was of noble birth: The fine linen, wool, and fur she wore were a testament to a high station in life. She wondered what Anaborg meant to Kylo and if they played at some lover’s game. The woman was certainly beautiful enough — and bold enough — to snare any man’s attention. And Rey understood nothing of the customs of this place.

She hoped Anaborg had indeed not claimed Kylo’s feelings. Then she, Rey, need not fear him making her a wife by forcing her to do something she could not contemplate: carving eagle on his back for his treachery, and her suffered indignity in front of members of the court. 

Alright, so Rey could be a jealous woman. But a good man, such as Kylo, would give his woman no reason to be.

Too much, Rey’s mind screamed at her. Too many things to fear and remember. 

Yet they went on. “I ken fine Lady Rey has never been the sort of woman to tend a hearth or look after a man. Best begin now, Princess, if you want to survive.”

In the sifting light, their faces looked grim. “Just make up your mind to it — you cannot hide behind a barrel from your fate.”

Rey covered her face with her hand and, there beside what was to be her new hearth, sank to her knees in agony.

To her surprise, Kylo set about laying a fire in the hearth after Lady Anaborg and her creamy, bountiful mounds stormed out, busying himself in silence while stealing sidelong glances at her. When the flames leaped up, battling for dominance against the paler beams of gleaming, she could see the place — her new prison — better.

And see him better also.

He seated himself on a separate rug, where the fire cast light onto his face, making it look as if the scar crawled and writhed. Her skin prickled when he spoke. His deep voice marked her when he said her name, the same way a wild beast’s growl did when stalking prey in the midnight forest. Strength rippled under his black tunic stretched across shoulders broad enough to block out the light. Silver arm-bands, where a blood-eyed beast carved in silver winked at her, a trick of the morning light’s reflection. Even by Dane standards, he was barely tame, preferring the woods to Skywalker’s people. His edge, born of near-feral nature or simply hard man, weakened her knees. She itched to slap the smirk off his face.

Yet she trusted him as she trusted _Solace._ Few men were faithful. Rey scoffed so loud at this that he cocked an eyebrow. She knew that he was a passionate and complex man and deep in her heart she would rather be right where she was than anywhere else without him. She actually admitted it to herself for the first time since she walked out of her home and away with him. Now she had to have the courage to set her course and put it into action. She could do because she must. The women of Isaland were strong, were they not? Strong enough.

~oOo~

Kylo had a particularly long, hot, intense day of swordplay with Poe in the training courtyard, but he couldn’t sweat his lust away. Perhaps he should retreat. Yet he had been taught all his life a man never retreated from his own home. Here he was king, with rights to everything.

Except this woman. He had promised her and his mother — and himself — he would not make use of her the way other men did their women or female thralls. He had little in common with other men. 

Beholding her in the hall, however, made him regret giving the promise. Of all men, _he_ had to be the one to witness her, ducking behind a barrel, ale-splashed breasts jiggling as she struggled with ill-fitting clothing. Her nipples pinched to hard, pebbled points as a slow trickle of wetness disappeared in her cleavage. Ah, by Odin’s eye, what a fool he was! Burdening himself with a woman, of all things, even out of duty, only further complicated his life. 

He certainly did not need any further complications. Would Rey be a devoted and willing wife? Everything about her declared less than versed in things domestic, with a streak, undeniably, of the wild. 

A strong man he was, able to control every aspect of his body, but at that moment his flesh was getting the best of him and he couldn’t control his damnable cock. It was still hard, uncomfortable, and throbbing painfully. What was wrong with him? If sleep was the cousin of death, by Thor’s teeth, how he’d slept all these years! It made him weak and put him at a disadvantage.

His soul was screaming at him to be with her. He just did not know how to do that without getting himself beheaded. Reluctantly, he had grunted his agreement to this predicament. He had gone his entire adult life without a woman, and the presence of one could have altered the prophecy. Poe did not flinch; instead his expression became one of amusement. What the Helheim was he doing anyway. Poe was right. He had lost his mind.

“If only the people could see you now,” Poe grunted. “Kylo, the feeble warrior! The weak, the ignoble, the disgraced, the dishonorable!” Kylo yelled and lunged. “Damnit, Kylo! Just yield!”

“There will be no yielding!” Kylo swung his stave for Poe’s head, but Poe stepped aside and struck Kylo’s stave. Lunge and parried again and again until there was a final surge from Poe. The heavy blow beneath the hilt numbed Kylo’s hand and wrist and with a gasp of pain he dropped the stave, only to find Poe’s stave at his throat.

Kylo was thinking about his present sleeping arrangement and all of a sudden he thought something had to change, and change soon, shouting to the heavens.

No one seemed shocked. They all knew he was besotted with the Shieldmaiden and believed, from the whispers of the chambermaids, that he was getting nothing in his robes.

His woman offered no comfort. But Kylo had learned to shun beauty. Was not Anaborg beautiful? And possessed of a black heart. He wanted no part of such a woman.

He’d wanted no such part of this one either. He still did not know what had moved him in the forest. The Gods, maybe, or the sheer desire to finish what his ancestors started.

He had fought many battles and other hardships, few of them worth the effort. But now he had found a battle worth everything. For Rey, he would destroy an enemy, cast away any darkness, and willingly lay down his life. Winning her heart was worth all of that and more. But he wanted her on his own terms, when she was in her right mind and accepted who she was supposed to be in this new life. This gave him hope. At least on some level, perhaps just physically, she wanted him. Wasn’t that all he needed?

~oOo~

Of latter years, the Viking matron Inger had a broad, sturdy form and wore her hair under a cloth wound tightly around her head. She shot the Queen an interested look and directed another sharper one at Rey before propping the basket she carried on her hip. She and the Queen began a conversation, which to Rey sounded like so much jabbering.

Rey occupied herself with probing the woman’s emotions instead — reading the spirit, the old völva of the wood called it when she confessed her ability to her.

“Not many confess that talent, young Reynhildur,” she’d told her in a voice cracked with age yet still melodious. “Not many would want it now, with the new religion creeping across the land. Guard it well. In the old days — the days of our glory — you would have been born a battle gyðja.”

In Viken, they had tried to abolish the old ways of worship, but the people of Isaland would have none of it. They wanted sacrifices of animals and men every nine years as was their pagan custom. King Ozur swore to keep the custom the day he was forced to leave. All of Viken marveled at the bloodless exile until another caused trouble. Svein. The snake had lurked all summer, a predator sniffing weakness, waiting for the right moment to claim the throne.

All for the love of power and their Norse gods.

“That is what I hope to be.” Rey gazed into her eyes and lifted her chin. “I don’t care for the new religion. I want to live as you do.”

“Ah, elskan, but I am old, and part of the order passing away. Would you choose a life of sacrifice?”

“Ja.”

“Devoted only to your gods?”

Freya would bring her all the comfort she needed. Did she not hear her voice in the waves and catch a glint of her Brísingamen in the lightning?

“It is a lonely road, elskan mín.”

Ah, but old Yade knew nothing of loneliness, Rey thought bitterly while she waited for the Queen to conclude her business with the woman. It fairly consumed her, here.

The woman abruptly switched her gaze back to Rey and spoke plainly as all Danes did, apparently for her benefit.

“Ja, My Lady, I will take her in hand as you ask and help her learn. Perhaps she would prove attractive once clean and properly clothed.” In the light of the hall, Rey’s tangled hair had carried a reddish gleam. Her face, with her sharp cheekbones, freckled skin, and those unforgettable eyes — ice and fire, they seared and scorched, seemed to invade the very soul — looked foreign enough to fire the passion of one such as her young master. Because of this girl, towns lay in ruins, kings and powerful jarls made slaves. Or lied in pools of blood. The bravest were dead too. And so many others. “Begin by putting your sword stained with Danish blood to sleep. What will folk think?”

The Queen shrugged, the movement signifying her indifference to the opinions of others, but she woefully passed sheathed _Solace_ into Inger’s hands. 

The woman smiled tightly. “I am Inger, who was friend to the Queen’s mother. She has asked me to take you under my wing, which I will do. You, My Lady, go and get your dagverðr. Leave us.”

The Queen nodded and sauntered off without a backward glance. 

Inger fixed Rey with a hard eye. “Come along, then. We will try and make something useful of this blunder.”

~oOo~

Inger possessed a fair command of tongue and proved not loath to speak. All throughout the longhouse she barked instructions.

“Marriage is a duty, and love a sin. The man is to increase the family fortune. Your task is to manage and preserve it and look after the servants. They cannot work if they are ill. You will keep his hearth swept, his clothing brushed, his room tidy, and answer his every command. You will put his comfort ahead of your own, always. Early or late, it will not be too much trouble to serve him. If his weapons need polishing, you will do it should the servants be tied up with other tasks. If his wounds need binding, you will tend them, and away from the eyes of others. He has become your reason for living. Do you understand?”

Rey, bristling inwardly, said nothing. As a daughter of a hershöfðingi and a fledgling priestess, she’d never taken orders from anyone save Freya. It stuck in her craw to agree to this.

At the door of Kylo’s quarters, Inger paused and glared at her. “Do you understand? It will be much the worse for us all otherwise.”

Rey walked to the window and looked out over the kingdom she would now call home. She still yearned for adventure, but not with Kylo. Certainly, a life in a Danish palace would be miserable. Regardless, Rey could not stop the wedding now. Agreements had been made, plans laid, fealties sworn, and partnerships sealed. It would be seen as an act of war to withdraw the transaction. She would not be the cause of more bloodshed or the reason her country went to war.

“I could not ask such a thing of the Queen.” Kylo had mentioned that also, last night.

“If you want to keep peace for our Queen and our kingdom, you have to marry him. See how I’ve lived my entire life, not just in their family’s service, but now in _your_ service and then tell me how you relish disobedience. Me, I have broken in more ladies than I care to number. I shan’t stop now. I know the way of it. Did you see the guards?”

Rey nodded. “Are they afraid of me?”

“You are a worthy prize for some greedy Viking, and the Lofðungr cannot bear the thought that you might fall prey to such a man, even him. Heed them well. The jarl’s vámr son, Arnmundur Brondolfsson, loves nothing better than to order punishment for those who flee, especially females. He will have you naked in front of the company before you can beg for mercy.” She planted her hand on the door of Kylo’s chamber. “Do not be stupid.”

“Nei.”

Inger shoved the door open and promptly shied at what she saw — and smelled. “By Thor’s teeth, this place is a midden. You will work hard.”

Rey followed the woman in and paused when she barked, “Prop the door wide. Get as much light and air in here as possible. Ah — does that man even own a broom?”

As the cook’s daughters had already pointed out, Rey possessed little inclination toward things domestic — weaving, cleaning, or cooking. At home things had been done for her, and she’d spent much of her time leading a felag further east where fortunes were truly made. And after that, she would never have to go on a voyage again. She would be able to stay home and make sure her lands were safe.

Fingers skilled at swordplay, however, proved clumsy beneath Inger’s direction. Merciless, the woman barked commands and prodded Rey into compliance, apparently heedless of the passing time. Under her direction, Rey sorted, bundled, and hauled countless objects outside. Rugs were shaken, garments hung, and the floor swept, all while Sól traveled across the clear blue sky. Passing people paused to stare before moving on again.

More than once, as the day crawled by, Rey thought of the Queen, sent away to her breakfast so long ago. She had not been offered so much as a cup of water and eventually swayed on her feet. 

When all the trash had been carried from the dwelling, new fires laid, and other goods organized, Inger paused and raked Rey with a sharp eye. 

“What’s the matter with you that a bit of housework turns your cheek pale? Wait here.”

The woman, who worked at least as hard as Rey yet appeared tireless, stalked off with her arms akimbo. She had battled countless men and not received a scratch, but this hag with her stern, silvery blue eyes nearly brought her down. Rey, half-dazed, stood outside in the gentle sunlight and once more let her gaze wander down to the bay in longing. The way home. If only she could throw herself into the salt sea and swim like a seal, transform herself into a nykr, leave all this pain and strife. _Help me, Freya._

She became aware that people still stared, and ducked back inside. Difficult to warrant the change in the place, she admitted.

Dust motes still swam in the air — product of all the sweeping — but the new rushes Inger had spread smelled sweet, and the hall looked tidy. On the right, upstairs, Kylo’s wooden bed had been piled high with clean rugs. A similar stand had been erected on the other wall, near where he would’ve slept last night. Inger had not asked about their sleeping arrangements, just grunted when Rey told her where she’d spent the night.

All this while they had not seen Kylo. Where might he be? Off training at arms? Yet surely he had left all his weapons behind, more weapons than Rey had imagined one man could ever use. She and Inger had lined them up, hanging most on the low beams near his bed. Later, said Inger, when time afforded, Rey would polish them. Some were dull, their edges chipped, as she’d noticed when she handled them. Others, like the great bearded axe, which she could gracefully lift, bore splashes of what could only be blood. 

_Oh, Freya, were these weapons used against my own people? Could that be King Ozur’s blood I see? In what terrible dream have I landed?_

And should she, Rey, appropriate one of these dire tools? Secret it about her person as a means of defense? A small knife, perhaps. And, were she discovered with it, what might the punishment be?

No time. The movement of a shadow behind let her know Inger had returned. The woman bore a cask of clear water and two small loaves of new-baked bread.

“Here. Eat and drink before we carry on.”

Rey accepted the food gratefully. “Surely we are done?”

“With the dwelling, ja. Next we begin on you.”

Inger was already making her way to Rey’s wardrobe. When she opened the doors, Rey gasped. It was full of lavish dresses — all in the latest style — which Rey was not fond of.

“Come — courage!”

An echo of the voice Rey heard in her head. But that voice, like all her courage, had now flown. Inger pulled one out and tugged at the bodice. 

“Where is the rest of it? That _prick_.” Rey snapped.

Inger rounded on her. “Mind your nature, lady.”

“I will not. I have court to attend and my future husband seeks to weaken me by shame. Let me take righteous fury where I can lest I pull out his eyes!”

“Spoken like a true heathen.” Inger shrugged. Rey shook her head, but was once again distracted by the dress Inger was holding. 

“It is the popular style in Frankia,” Inger said. “The tight bodice is cut especially low so it can push up the woman’s… assets.”

“Just say _tits_ — they push up your tits so a man can have a conversation with them instead of your face,” Rey huffed. “I’m sure this was designed by a man. It is ridiculous. I cannot believe he wants me to parade around so exposed,” Rey muttered, almost to herself.

“I can,” Inger said as she put the dress back. “To him, you are his mirror. He wants to prance you around so everyone can gawk over you, as they line at your feet in terror and awe.”

Rey walked over to her bed and flung herself on it, shutting her eyes as she felt like the walls closing in around her. She could not escape her fate, and it just kept getting worse.

“Do not fret, lady,” Inger said, patting her arm. “I have another idea. So, he wants you to look beautiful — fine. If we cannot make you ladylike, we will just make you less backward.”

Her eye popped open. “What?” Rey’s voice came out in a squawk.

“Magic,” Inger pointed out. 

“What do _you_ know of magic?”

“There are those who tremble before it, afraid of what they cannot control,” Inger said as she raised her hand and gestured like she was revealing something. “Some wield it ruthlessly while others use it for good — doing what they can to help those around them, even if it goes unnoticed. Magic cannot be contained, it cannot be extinguished, and it cannot be explained. We can either accept it, learning from those who are gifted, or we can let it destroy us—”

“Cease your mockery!” Rey practically yelled, interrupting any further ramblings. 

“Thought you’d see it my way. For the name Skywalker means something in this country. Within these walls, you’ll be given a chance to live up to it—”

“But I—”

“And you can begin by closing your mouth. The next time you meet the people, they will have reason to be proud of you. You are here for one reason, and one reason only. You are here to be made into a young lady. You have the potential, but you are untapped, untried, and most of all, untrained. Walk as I show you to. Eyes up! Up, up, up! Speak as I tell you to. Act, think, be as I tell you, and you’ll become an acceptable wife, and a responsible mother. Follow the path of so many girls who once stood where you do now. And just as I molded them, so shall I you.”

Inger slid her dressing gown over her head and then held out one of Kylo’s dresses for her to slip into. “Do you know why I serve? It’s because it is an honor. I want you to live a full and vibrant life. Not with anger and endless questions, but with answers! I prepare my girls for the world, for the unsettled world. I would never abandon you and leave you to fend for yourself.” The fabric was slick and cool. It felt good over her heated skin. But once she raised it all the way up and she slipped her arms in it, she realized how little it covered and her skin flushed even hotter. She glanced at the overabundance of cleavage that was pressed up and out by the cut of the dress. 

“Perhaps this is the strategy you shall employ to convince the Lofðungr you are not the bride for him,” Inger answered as she tapped her chin. The wheels were turning in the matron’s head and Rey did not know if she should be thankful or scared.

“Perhaps he is not a man who likes tits,” Rey pointed to her own. “Since mines seem to be handing out engraved invitations, he will sail me back to Isaland without delay.”

Inger made a sound between a snort and a laugh. “Tits are like sunshine, my dear child. Everyone likes them.”

Rey scrunched up her nose at the offensive gown. “I cannot believe this is the fashion in Frankia.” 

“The Franks encourage embracing the beauty of the feminine form,” Inger said absently. 

“Can they not embrace it behind closed doors?” Rey said as she walked over to the glass and stared, wide eyed at the woman before her. “I am not leaving this room… not like this,” she declared. 

“I am a bit surprised he would allow you to be paraded around like that. Won’t he be jealous? The eyes of every man in the palace will be upon you.” Inger asked, having abandoned, for the time being, her plans for making Rey attractive and expediting the impending nuptials.

Rey stared at her image, feeling like a lady of the night. How could she hold her head up as princess of the Danish people while dressed like a frilla? 

“Nei,” Rey finally responded. “Kylo is a man who is absolutely confident in his own position. He wants other men to see me and know they could never have me. He wants other men to be jealous of him, lording over them what they could never touch.”

The two of them stared at the glass for several moments in silence until Rey finally threw her hands up. “There is nothing to be done about it now.” She turned from the mirror and motioned for Inger to follow. “Could you please just do something simple with it?” Rey asked pointing to the mass of hair still mused.

~oOo~

Three hours later, Rey had been poked and prodded to the point that she was ready to stab someone with the sharpest object near her. Kylo’s “dress,” if that’s what you could call it, was so ridiculously revealing that Inger was unwilling to allow her to wear it. So she, along with the other seamstresses, had spent that last hour adding material to it to make it appropriate.

The funniest moment of the entire time had been when the Queen first arrived with the guards in tow. They’d walked into the living area of her chambers to find Rey strutting about in the dress. Upon seeing them enter, Rey’d stopped midway ridiculously throwing her head back and flailing her arms and said in a snobby aristocratic tone. “My Lady, I do believe your son wants to whore out your future daughter-in-law like a common woman in a brothel.” 

Inger was pretty sure the Queen was going to choke to death. Inger had to beat her on the back to help her collect herself. Apailana, whose presence had surprised Rey, covered her mouth to keep from laughing. 

Rey could not believe the Prince of Skywalkerland had the gall to expect his bride to wear such a spectacle. And she wasn’t too proud to admit that she couldn’t wait to see Kylo’s reaction when they saw her alterations. He would not be able to scold her in front of those people. He would be fuming inside. Thinking of him, she couldn’t help but think of his magnificent body, the fine muscles twitching in rage, and damnit, that strange feeling in her stomach started again with a weird quivering feeling. She needed to calm down a bit.

After the dress was finished, they each took places on the benches in the hall and relaxed. It felt good to sit.

Per Inger’s insistence, Rey was working on various projects that apparently were important for a well-rounded young woman to know. She was doing needlework, Apailana was stringing beads, and the Queen was penning a letter to her brother she hadn’t seen in ages, but to whom she felt it important to keep in touch. They were sitting in the main lounge where they usually accepted guests. It had the best vantage point for watching the general chaos that had become Rey’s home. Growing bored with the needlework she’d been pouring over for the past week, Rey set it down and stood to stretch. The captain, who’d been standing in the far-right corner of the room, pushed away from the wall, ever alert. Rey ground her teeth together as she attempted to keep the sharp remark growing in her mind to herself. It wouldn’t do to have the princess telling the captain of the guard to take his nose and put it somewhere that never saw the light of day. “I need fresh air,” she told the women. “With all the staff hustling about, it is beginning to feel stuffy in here. Where are the gardens?”

The Queen set down her pen, pushed the letter to the side, and put the paperweight on top, no doubt to keep it from getting blown off in all the hustle. She stood up eagerly, her eyes dancing with mischief. Rey was so much like her, always ready for an adventure. 

Thus, Kylo was not the customary Viking, for he was the son of two races, the Danes and the Karelians. His father, the great Sea-Rider, fought as a warrior in the Danish city of Aarhus. Jóhannes, Warrior of Karjalabotn, had gone a-Viking in his time too. But he had fallen in love with the land and his Danish wife, and he had brought about curious peace with Kylo’s grandfather, Badr Ibn Osman Pasha, the Grand Vizier, or Chief Advisor, of all viziers to the Andalusian emirate. Kylo’s maternal grandfather, Aki, still ruled over all Danish kings at Skywalkerland, also known as Klinten, and far away in the Norwegian icelands, Kylo’s father’s father ruled as a great jarl of the Finns. His education had been well rounded. He had studied in great monasteries of learning with Irish monks, and he had learned about the Christian God and Christ, about writing, and literature. At his mother’s court he had met many foreign men, masters and teachers. He had been taught to listen to the trees and forests and the wind by Yrjö, the Runemaster. He had learned to reap, to harvest.

But he was a second son. He had gone to battle with his father and uncle, and he loved his Danish kin, but he equally honored his Karelian brethren. His Karelian uncles along with the bjǫrnhund Cnut, too, had taken him on many journeys for another kind of education.

A-Vikingr.

He had been bred to civilization, for men already proclaimed this time a “golden age” for Danmark. 

He had also been bred to the raids that had made the savage quests of the Vikings famous throughout what was called by some Europe, by others Enea, Byzantium and Asia and even Rusland. There were no finer navigators living than the Danes. There were no more furious fighters. And there were no men more brutal. 

But he did not sail these days to do battle. Though he had gone a-Vikingr with the best fighters in his younger days, he had also learned about a better quest, the one for land, ja, and the one spoken of in the maiden-songs.

When they reached the gardens, Rey paused, scrutinizing them as her eyes roamed over the area.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

While staring out at the bright flowers and rich foliage, Rey contemplated all the ways she could build a little elf cottage in the garden as she stood next to the Queen. This place had always been a sight that inspired joy and happiness, but it also had plants containing deadly thorns. That was something the gardener had warned her about. Surely, having a supply of deadly plants on hand would be quite useful. Not only for the poisoning of a high-ranking dignitary, but, perhaps more importantly, for use by fortitudinous princesses who need to put themselves out of their misery should the situation arise.

“What sort of plants do you have in your gardens?” Rey found herself asking the Queen.

The Queen looked up at her as if she were a child asking an innocent question. But she answered nonetheless. “I prefer exotic, unusual plants.”

Rey’s brow rose. “Really? She turned her body slightly so it was facing her. “What kind, exactly?”

“Flowers from all over Midgard. Vines the size of a man’s leg, flowers as bright as the sun, and a few deadly bushes.”

“Deadly?”

The Queen chuckled, and it was not a happy sound. It sent chills down Rey’s back.

“As I said, I like unusual plants.”

“Are those the plants you used to kill the North King?”

Rey’s voice carried from several feet away. 

The Queen’s jaw clenched as she turned toward Rey. She was too afraid to look at the Queen’s reaction. Apailana shot daggers at Inger as if it were her fault Rey could not keep her mouth closed at proper times.

“I think it is time for náttverðr,” the Queen said, ignoring the question.

~oOo~

Rey stared at herself in the glass, trying to decide if she liked what she saw. The dress was absolute perfection. She shouldn’t be trying it on again. She just tried it on yesterday, and it fit the same. She wasn’t sure what she was looking to gain trying it for the millionth time. The more she stared at herself, the more she wanted approval — within herself.

So she tried on the dress every day to make sure it looked the same. She tried it on to see the beauty past the gorgeous dress, but all she saw were the differences in her body compared to the other women. She seemed to be the only one in the whole kingdom who had muscles under burnished skin, wide hips, thick thighs, and a big bottom. Yet these men cared little enough for a woman’s looks while plundering them in the dark.

Running her hand down her torso, her waist was smooth. Her curves were apparent. There was no getting rid of them. What she wouldn’t give to be the size of Apailana. She was tiny with curves, the sort of woman that men would marry in an instant, and not just to gain a seeress, a fortune or lands. Rey was aware of her gawky frame and big hips. Apailana had the body Rey dreamed of having, but she also didn’t have the rump the size of hers either, or bulgy arms, but at least she did not have to get clothes specially tailored to fit because her backside was so big. It was embarrassing.

Speaking of embarrassing, with every inhale her breasts pushed against the material of her corset. They were pushed up and so tight that she felt as though if she moved the wrong way, the seam would split right down the middle, not only falling open and tearing the yellow material and ruining the dress but freeing her breasts for the world to see.

_Which may be quite freeing…_

She debated for a moment which option would be better, when a knock at the door drew her attention from her reflection. The large wood creaked open as her soon-to-be mother-in-law stepped inside, closing it behind her with a soft click. As always, her eyes softened when she saw Rey, and love poured off her in waves.

She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and a small, yet, proud smile on her face. “You look lovely, Rey. You remind me of my mother right now. Of course, I’ve only seen her in dreams. The prettiest woman in all the land.” 

Rey’s hands grabbed the material of her dress. She averted her eyes down, and she spun from side to side, watching the gown fan outward. “Thank you, Mother Leidvar.”

Rey could always count on the Queen to make her feel better. When the Queen mentioned her mother, which wasn’t often, her heart stressed a little, but not to the point of sadness. She just missed what she never got to know.

Rey let out a large exhale, trying to learn to breathe in this too-tight contraption, but her ribs ached. Her body wanted to be free of this imprisonment. The dress was perfect, but that damn corset was horrid.

Turning back around, she caught her eyes in the glass again. The Queen’s reflection was in it as well, and she was behind her, still grinning. Rey’s hands ran down the front again, out of habit, as she twisted and turned. It must’ve been perfect.

But something was not adding up. Something felt like it needed to change. Something about her being in the Queen’s mother’s dress surrounded by people she didn’t know felt wrong. She hated it. All of it. The people. The arrangement. The corset. The gown. She was tired of all these expectations. The dress was gorgeous. She could not ask for a better or prettier gown. 

But it was herself she had the problem with.

And the fact that Kylo risked everything to seek her hand? For what? Because he assumed to see her face in a dream? A snort ripped through her mind. How ridiculous did it sound? Hel, the goddess of the underworld, awaited those who drowned on the high seas. There was no place in Valhalla for them. 

The Gods looked upon her with favor she did not deserve. Maybe she was losing hope in herself. She had never been interested in a man asking for her hand, and it made sense if she thought no one wanted her, so Kylo was trying his hardest to make sure she felt wanted.

The Queen’s hands landed on her shoulders, and their eyes met in the glass. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks heated from the lie. The damn sunburned skin gets her every time. 

“Right. Children. You always blush when you lie, sweetheart. I haven’t nearly enough time getting to know you, but you can’t hide anything from me.”

Rey knew. Nothing she felt was private, because it always showed all over her face. “Nothing is wrong.”

She didn’t want to worry her. She was her closest ally in a capital anxious to see how the young princess would rule. It had been mostly the two of them since she got here. 

Not only was Leidvar her betrothed’s mother, but she was one of the strongest, smartest, bravest women she knew. She had sacrificed everything for family. 

Her sacrifice was the reason why she and Kylo were inseparable, but it came with a price. Kylo hadn’t had the luxury of a childhood. Because all anyone would see was a spoiled brat sitting on the throne, incapable of ruling an empire. Young. Soft. And even when he would come of age, raised as her son. He had not had a personal life since the day he was born, and the Queen wanted to change that. She did not want to be the mother whose son would never know love because he was trained not to show emotion. He had simply learned that to act poorly was almost certainly to bring some kind of punishment down on him, whether it was exile, imprisonment, or execution. “You are lying,” her voice lowered to a slight whisper.

Rey had come to know that tone. It was the sound of the Queen trying to pry her deepest secrets, if she had not already surrendered them.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Rey lifted her chin with a bit of defiance.

“You must think I was born yesterday if you don’t think I know when you are lying to me. Ask my son, husband or twin brother. I don’t like it when I’m lied to, young lady.” She pointed to her bottom lip, and it reminded Rey that she had hers between her teeth. 

She released it.

“Do not,” she argued in a slight whisper, fidgeting the tulle of her dress between her fingers.

The Queen let out an annoyed sigh and sat on the bed, rubbing her temples with her fingers. “Rey. You children shall be the death of me. Just tell me.”

She still didn’t say a word.

“Who hurt you, my girl?” She stood tall on her feet as she pushed herself off the bed. “They will find the price! My sword is ready, and those of my kin!” Her hand flew to the hilt of a wicked-looking dragon dagger, and Rey knew if she told her she would go decapitating heads.

The Queen’s protectiveness only ate away at Rey further. “Nothing, Mother Leidvar. Really, it’s nothing.”

“I won’t ask again.”

There was that tone again, and Rey was useless against it. It took her back to when she was a child. _I better say something, or I’ll be in trouble._ The Queen grabbed her by the arms and made her look at her in the eyes.

“I do not know. I am my father’s shame; a curse. Who cares about my eye, anyway? I could not save my family or my friends. Few they were. It’s too late for me. And all I want is to not have their fate become yours. And it will if I marry your son.” Rey slumped her shoulders and stared at the floor. She couldn’t see her feet since they were covered by the dress.

“What? Why? Nei. There is so much wrong with that sentence. If you weren’t a grown woman, I would put you over my knee and spank you for saying something like that.”

She kneeled to look at Rey directly in the eye, but Rey kept staring at the ground.

“How could you even think that? How could you even feel like that? You’re the best part of our lives, Rey. The absolute best part. You are not a curse. You will never be a curse. Do you understand that?”

Tears pricked Rey’s eyes, but she did not lift her gaze to meet the Queen’s. She knew she would cry if she did.

“Rey, do you understand me?”

“Mother Leidvar,” she said, with emotion choking her throat.

Her fingers lifted Rey’s chin, and the first tears broke from her lashes.

“Talk to me, sweeting. Talk to me.”

Rey sniffled and shook her head. “I just don’t like how I look. Who I am. What I am.”

“Nonsense. You’re the prettiest woman in all the land, remember? If not the Viking world, just like my mother was. Such passion. Such bravery.”

“You have to say that because you’re my mother-in-law.”

“Bull-shit. I do not have to say that. You’re gorgeous, and we are having this wedding. All the kingdom will be there, and some cousins from out of the country—”

“I don’t want them to have to leave their countries!” She shouted, astonished that nobles would travel ‘cross the sea, from as far as Frankia, solely to see the handsome Kylo marry her: a simple bread-pudding of a girl. They’d know right away he was too good for her. “You’d let it go that far? I don’t want to be the center of attention.”

“You will always be the center of attention, my dear child. You think I wish to see my little boy with another woman who clearly doesn’t deserve him? No woman in the world will ever be good enough for my son, except you.” She ran a knuckle down Rey’s cheek. “It shall be so hard to let him go. They believe that his heart is made of cold steel. By the Gods, I wish it were so! And it would’ve killed me every day, like a knife to the chest, if he would’ve been dragged away by someone who was not his match.” She held out her hands and willed Rey to take them. “In time, you will see that this was the best course.”

Rey put her head on the Queen’s shoulder, and they stayed like that for a few minutes. “I don’t wish to ever take him away from you, Mother Leidvar. Life without you, I couldn’t imagine it.”

She kissed the top of Rey’s head and wrapped her arms around her. “You’ll never have to worry about that. I’ll always be here.”

Rey lifted her head and smiled, wiping the last of her tears away. “Can you untie it in the back? I can’t breathe in this thing right now.”

“I don’t know how we women wear these. I still don’t know how I do. It’s just another reason why I will always think women are stronger than men.” She unlaced the ties of Rey’s corset, and almost immediately, she gasped, taking a deep breath in. 

The Queen took a step back toward the door. “Perhaps you should meet him in the dining hall after you have put on something more akin to what I am wearing. I don’t know how I feel about you wearing any of these dresses. They show a lot, and you can’t breathe,” she suggested.

“Mother Leidvar,” Rey warned.

“I’m just saying. Maybe I can find something with more give. I am your mother-in-law. Anything involving your person is my concern.”

“I think you mean anything involving my safety,” Rey attempted to correct her. “My choice of gown does not affect my safety.”

“Forgive me if I disagree. My son will have to fight off every male in the palace if you parade around looking like—”

“Be very careful how you end that sentence, woman.”

“Every man’s desire,” the Queen bit out.

“Mother Leidvar!” 

“Fine. I’m leaving. I love you, Rey.”

Her eyes softened in the glass. “I love you, too, Mother Leidvar.”

The door clicked shut, and Rey waited, knowing what was coming next. 

“Lock the door, Rey! I’m not leaving until I hear it click,” she shouted through the thick wood.

Rey hurried to the door giggling, sliding the extra metal lock she installed on the inside of her door in place. She put her ear against the door, laughing when she heard the Queen grunt, and the clacking of her quick footsteps carried down the corridor. Kylo as a man, she knew she denied feeling for him what a woman should feel for a husband. In truth, she had never felt it for any man of her acquaintance. However, women of her rank did not marry for love. If both partners respected each other, it was enough. But not for her, not for her. She’d no longer be a shieldmaiden. Kylo had not understood.

Her life had changed so much, so quickly. She kept telling herself she wanted nothing to do with Kylo but her body was telling her something completely different and she knew it deep down. But as she adapted, so did her fantasies. She no longer dreamed of slaying the Warlord of the Danes. Her dreams took on a much more fearsome nature, making her ache in ways she dared not speak of.

How often had she awakened feeling that urgent pulsing of desire between her legs? That damp heat of moisture that left her gasping and sweating even on the coldest of nights. Her heart racing in her chest as she fought to disguise the panting of her breath so it did not awaken her mother-in-law sleeping at the other end of the room.

She was frightened by the way her body responded whenever Kylo drew near. As it did now, striking her with the force of a hurricane’s gale. Catching her completely off guard and leaving her mind spinning in disorientation.

The brush of his fingertips had given her no comfort. Instead, they unleashed a war of fire and ice that seared across her flesh.

He stood as tall as any bear, with a powerful body that was carved by hard battle and long nights fighting rope and oar on the raging seas. His expression was often savage, cold as the Danish darkness that deepened after every bloody battlefield.

Rey only knew she had felt drawn to him and it angered her to have that attraction filling her now, drowning out all of her other emotions. 

Every time they were near each other, his mother found a way to interrupt. He wondered how Inger made out training the shieldmaiden, pushed open his door, and stared. For one mad instant he wondered if he entered the wrong bedchamber. These could not be his quarters that smelled so sweet, glowed with the light of a good fire in the hearth, and lacked a jumble of discarded clothing and weapons. He felt the breath in his lungs expel as he took in the scent of her. His loins were throbbing, and after her he couldn’t go back now if Odin himself was at the front gates. They didn’t notice as the chair back began to splinter in Kylo’s hands. Inger talked all the while as if she saw nothing unusual about the situation.

“Well, what do you think of your quarters? I hope you are impressed. It took the whole day and I worked as hard as your wife.”

“You are a good woman, Inger.”

“Now the rooms and your wife both smell sweet.”

Inger’s blue eyes snapped at Kylo. “You can use both as you will.”

“There will be none of that,” the Queen told Inger harshly.

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

Rey overheard the Queen threatening Kylo, which meant Kylo wouldn’t be coming to supper.

“Go.” The Queen gave him a push. “Compose yourself.”

Inger smiled again. “A blind fool could see he wants the woman.”

“Hush.”

“Why? She cannot hear.” Rey cast a questioning look over her shoulder. She might not hear the distant words, but she comprehended the tone. “Anyway, it is her duty, if you would have it, My Lady.”

Kylo thought about that. This woman — his woman — for his bed, obedient to his every command. Only he did not want obedience. He shook his head.

“I will not stay for náttverðr,” Kylo decided. “We will not talk further of this.”

Rey rolled her eyes at her reflection. None of it mattered. It wasn’t as though Rey was a girl concerned with customs or traditions. She was still surprised Kylo chose her when he could have had more fertile fields.

She shrugged out of her dress and stared at her bare body. Her breasts were freckled, her nipples taught and tight, her curves held the shadows of the room, and her hips flared out. _Why in the world would he want me? I’m nothing like the women his people are used to._

Her mind would not wander, though. It remained on Kylo, day and night. And there was nothing that could be done about it. Not until the forbidden bridal circlet was lifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Blood eagle — a grizzly execution wherein the back is sliced open and lungs pulled out to resemble wings.
> 
> Elskan (mín) — “(My) darling, (my) love.”
> 
> Karelians — a Baltic-Finnic ethnic group native to the Northern European historical region of Karelia, which is today split between Finland and Russia. Finland was _Österland_ (“Eastern Land”), i.e. the eastern half of Sweden at the time. The western Icelandic-Scandinavian view towards the Finnar or Finlander was negative. The land of the Karelian people was a remote and unknown region. In the Norse sagas, they are described as being “different” and it was a common belief that they were “wizards” feared by neighboring peoples around the Baltic Sea. Finns were also called Kvens. However, “Finn” in some Norse sagas could also mean the Sámi who inhabited much of the same lands as Finns, and the Sámi warlocks (Lapin noita) were a parallel and coexisting tradition. According to tales, foreign seafarers bought ropes tied in knots from Finns. By opening the knot a bit, a seaman could raise a wind to make his ship go faster. However, opening it too fast would raise a storm. Warriors also went to Finland to purchase magic elk-hide armor.
> 
> Bjǫrnhund — the Karelian Bear Dog (“Karjalankarhukoira” in Finish) hunted big aggressive game like bear, moose, and wild boar, but could also catch lightning quick small animals. They were much like the Russian Laika, Norwegian Elghund (Elkhound) and Swedish Jämthund. These pets were often found in ancient graves alongside their masters. Runestone depictions of a slain warrior entering Valhalla often show the figure greeted by a Valkyrie, bearing a horn of mead, with the warrior’s faithful dog waiting nearby.
> 
> Hershöfðingi — (plural Hershöfðingjar) Force Commander or General of the _Norðsherstjórn_ (Northern Force Command).
> 
> Veslingr — (VEHS-ling-uhr) puny wretch.
> 
> Vámr — (VAHM-uhr) loathsome fellow.
> 
> Frilla — concubine, mistress, harlot, lower status woman.
> 
> Skitkarl — a “shithead,” “shit-man” or “turd.” Like calling someone a lowly stablehand constantly covered in feces. Norse vulgarity was often of a different flavor than the rather theatrical terms of abuse presented here. There seems to have been plenty of straight obscenity, albeit often very clever obscenity. There was also the brilliant genre of insult poetry ( _flyting_ ), the rap battles of the Viking era. Religious topics could also be addressed in a shocking fashion: Here’s a blasphemous couplet with a nice play on words and religious imagery, from the _Íslendingabók:_
> 
> _Vil ek eigi goð get ja,  
>  grey þykki mér Freyja._  
> I don’t want to declaim [or “bark at”] the gods,  
> But I think Freyja’s a bitch.
> 
> Mansǫngr — (plural mansǫngvar) “maiden-song” is a form of Icelandic poetry. In scholarly usage the term has often been applied to medieval skaldic love-poetry; and it is used of lyric openings to rímur throughout the Icelandic literary tradition. There was a danger of love in that it was forbidden by law to make mansongr or love poems. For such a poem a skald could be outlawed or risk a death penalty. There were probably two reasons for this: (1) The love poem could destroy a woman’s reputation or insult her family. (2) The words had magical power that could enchant the woman mentioned. Still skalds made love poems. One of these skalds was Kormak who made many love poems to his beloved Steingerd, also after she had married another man. Another was Tormod Kolbrunarskal (skald of dark eyebrows) who got his nickname because he made love poems to a women with dark eyebrows.
> 
> Gyðja — priestess. Many important practices of Norse religion occurred in the home. The women of the house acted as priestesses to prophesize, to weave spells in the threads of her family’s clothing, to concoct herbal remedies. Although the date of the celebration is disputed, the Viking Age celebration called disablót — “sacrifice to the goddesses” — was another tradition which Ancient Mothers were revered. The Nordic New Year was a time when the ancestral mothers and dísir (female powers) were celebrated.


	10. The Prodigal Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the Viking era, multiple “families” lived in the same longhouse, working the same farm holding. This “grand family” played an important role in shaping Viking society and its laws and customs, and was the standard unit of society. A household might consist not only several husband-and-wife couples (with one member of each couple typically related by blood to one member of every other couple) and their children, but also the families of servants and bondsmen. Despite the coziness, the longhouse was scarcely the place for privacy. The entire extended family did everything here: eating, cooking, dressing, sleeping, work, and play, both day and night. Everyone knew everyone’s business, which probably led both to closeness and rancor. Some of the stories refer to sleeping quarters in the loft of the longhouse. (For instance, in chapter 77 of _Brennu-Njáls saga_ , it is said that Gunnar slept in a bed-closet above the hall, together with his wife and his mother.) Privacy did not exist; modesty must have been unknown. Spring’s warmer weather no doubt brought relief to families cooped up for an entire winter. Viking women pushed their menfolk out the door to hunt or fish, while they themselves went out to harvest fresh spring greens and herbs.
> 
> In chapter 75 of _Grettis saga_ , there is an episode that illustrates the lack of privacy. One night Grettir swam from his island hideaway to Reykir, Þorvald’s farm on the mainland. It was after dark, and the people of the farm were asleep. Grettir bathed in a hot spring and went to sleep naked. During the night his bed clothes fell off and in the morning he was found by Þorvald’s daughter and a servant-woman. The servant remarked, “Grettir the Strong is lying here, naked. He’s big-framed, all right, but I’m astonished at how poorly endowed he is between his legs. It’s not in proportion.” The two of them took turns peeking at Grettir and laughing at what they saw. Grettir awoke and returned their insults with some bawdy poetry.
> 
> An interesting fact I have taken author’s license on is a sort of plumbing system used with wooden pipes and pumping in water from a nearby lake. This has yet to be proven true or false but it was found in one of the many Viking Sagas. My references are here: 
> 
> Króka-Refs saga (ch. 12) says that Ref’s home in Greenland used underground wooden pipes to supply water from a nearby lake to the house and fortification in order to foil his enemies’ attempts to burn down the house. No physical evidence of such structures has been found, and the limitations of digging tools available during the Viking age would would seem to make such underground engineering efforts nearly impossible except in the most favorable possible circumstances. That is, stoopid rich Skywalkers. 
> 
> References:
> 
> http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/society/text/laws.htm
> 
> Books:
> 
>  _The Viking Age_ by Paul Belloni Du Chaillu 
> 
> _The Prose Edda Tales_ by Snorri Sturluson Translated by Arthur Gilchrist Brodeur

_Of his knowledge a man should never boast. Rather be sparing of speech. When to his house a wiser comes: Seldom do those who are silent make mistakes; mother wit is a ever faithful friend._

~ The Hávamál, Book of Viking Wisdom 

Days, it’d been raining.

Kylo couldn’t wait any longer to start building his home. He’d been sleeping in the stables with Sleipnir, and the hay was really starting to scratch his ass. He could not sleep in the longhouse because he knew Rey was there, and his body, his mind could not be so close and continued to fight the need to be in her space. To share her breath. 

He no longer cared about the rain if it meant getting his thoughts off her beautiful body. She was like a shadow in the back of his hugr.

Sleipnir neighed as he pushed off her robust stomach and stood. “I know, krútt mitt. I can’t be living here with you forever, though. Tell you what. I shall build you your own stable, and I can get you out of here. What do you think?” He patted her muscular neck as she blew air from her nostrils. 

“So much sass for a girl your size, you know.” He grabbed his sword off the barrel of hay and wrapped it around his waist. 

She hit her hoof on the ground, disrupting the dirt. Again with the attitude.

The stable door creaked as he opened it, and the loud pounding of rain echoed through the stable. Large droplets fell at a fast rate. It disrupted the ground, creating a crevice of water to flow down the hill. He stepped under the plundering pellets, and the refreshing water cooled him. He tilted his head back, as Poe did, and let the rain wash over him. He scrubbed his hands over his face and cleaned the smell of hay and horse off his skin.

He spit water out of his mouth and closed the door behind him. Each step he took up the mud-ridden hill, his boots sank into the ground. He climbed. His legs burned. His hair was soaked. The long tendrils stuck to his neck, flattening against the armor covering his shoulders. He supposed he no longer needed to wear the heavy gear. He had a habit of falling asleep with it on when he pulled late-night rotations.

Once he got to the top of the hill, he ripped the armor off. The rain stung his skin from how heavy it was coming down, but at the same time, it felt nice. He could only feel it on the tops of his shoulders and his chest. Everything else was numb.

Folk were running by him to get out of the storm, but he saw them staring as they passed, staring at the monster before them. He took his time making his way through the rain. He was in no hurry. He knew what he looked like to them. There was no need to rush like they were because he knew what he was capable of, and he would never hurt anyone unless he absolutely had to. He was not a danger to the realm like they thought he was.

He was just a man trying to live. He was a man with scars, battle wounds, and an empty heart. He wanted love as anyone else did. He tried to say hello to the villagers, but they turned their heads and walked away, whispering things that he knew he had heard before, so he kept his mouth closed. He talked when he needed to. I have Mother and Poe. And while he wished their acceptance was enough, part of him wished for acceptance from everyone.

Rubbing his hands over his face to push the fallen strands away, his feet finally hit the grass. He made his way over to the woods, a few yards away from the longhouse, and placed his hands on his hips. 

It took a few conversations and late-night drinking to convince his mother to let him move out of the longhouse, but finally she caved. The agreement was that he needed to stay close. He did not argue. But he needed the wilderness, and the Queen knew that. It was all he really knew, and it felt like home, so why change it?

The metal of his armor clinked as it fell on the grass. He yanked his axe from the strap on his left side and got to work. It felt good working in the rain. He grunted, lifting the weapon above his shoulder, and smacked it against the tree. After many rough cuts, it rumbled to the ground with a heavy crash. He took a deep breath and turned to the next tree.

He was not sure how much time had passed, but he had felled eight trees, and steam was rising from his skin from the exertion. His stomach rumbled. He must have worked up an appetite. He needed to make a fire and hunt for food.

He could go back into the hall for a feast, but he knew who was there, and he could not be around a woman he could not have or did not win before they wed.

He wiped the water out of his eyes, but then, Poe’s voice grabbed his attention.

“I’ve been looking for you all day.”

“Here I am,” he called.

Poe walked under the canopy of the trees, where the leaves caught the rain, and leaned against one of the large trees. He crossed his arms, disregarding the water droplets falling every so often on his shoulders. “You’ve been out here all day, Lord. Come inside and eat. You can work later. You shall get sick out here working in the rain like this.”

“I’m used to living outside, remember? And so are you,” he grunted, tossing the tree down on the ground. He wasn’t sure where he was going to find dry wood, but there must be some out there somewhere. He needed to build a fire and get a rabbit to cook. Sounded delicious.

Poe’s hand landed on his shoulder, gripping hard to the point that he spun him around to look at him. “You aren’t some animal, brother. Stop living like one. I’ve permitted you to live out here—”

“You, permitted?”

“—It’s what you truly want. But I won’t have you go hungry, get sick, or worse, die, because you refuse to care for yourself. Drop the fucking axe, get inside, and eat something. That’s an order coming from your second.” He snatched the axe out of Kylo’s grip and threw it on the forest floor. It landed with a hard thud.

Poe’d never before challenged his lord who he’d mouthed the words of fealty to in his firmest voice. Kylo wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“And while you’re inside, take a hot bath.” Poe pushed him out of the forest, and he slipped on the wet grass, but righted himself before he fell.

“You are really trying to defy my authority? Come on, Poe. Since when?”

“Since my friend decided to isolate himself even further than he usually does. I’m worried about you.” He pushed Kylo back again, and it had him stumbling forward.

“You may be bigger and stronger, but I’ve got maneuverability and speed!”

A heavy boom rended the skies, twice as loud as the falling of trees. The rain decided at that exact moment to pour. It beat against his skin, plummeting him like stones. 

“Let’s hurry before we get struck by lightning.” Poe ran out in front of him, disappearing into the heavy sheet of water falling from the darkened sky. 

Poe was right. Perhaps today wasn’t the best day to build his dwelling. Flashes of light veined across the sky. Big booms of thunder rumbled the ground. He could feel it beneath his feet. He followed behind Poe after grabbing his armor, grumbling under his breath about how he thought he was always right. 

The ground plopped from their feet. And the rain didn’t let up. She still poured like an angry lover. 

Poe opened the doors, and the Queen was there with her hand held up, stopping them in their tracks. “Don’t even think about coming in any further and dripping all that water on my floors and turning them into mud.”

“My Queen.” Poe gave a bow of respect, but all she did was roll her eyes and toss a rag at him.

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that, Poe. We have spoken about this. We are family.” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.

Kylo let out a snort of laughter, and Poe shoved him. “Shut up.”

“You shut up!” Kylo pushed back, and since the floor was wet, Poe slipped back, dripping water along the floor.

Poe threw his arm around his neck and put him in a headlock, just like when they were young scamps. Kylo stomped on his foot, and it was enough to make Poe loosen his grip. Kylo took advantage of his weakness and pushed him on the ground. Poe’s back slid against the floor, squeaking as they wrestled around. 

They were shouting and laughing, but when they rolled and hit the stone step of the hearth, they paused. When they looked to their right, they saw their wet trail, with dirty water and mud smeared all around the floor. The Queen was tapping her foot on the ground but had a large grin on her face. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed the easy camaraderie of their youth and they seemed so fierce and remote from the boys she had known.

“While this is adorable, and I’m glad you’re having fun, clean up your mess, or you shall have a witch of a mother.”

“He started it!” Kylo tried to defend himself. Horrified at the idea that his mother could possibly be mad at him.

She shook her finger at him and scowled. “And I’ll finish it if you don’t clean it up. I have been out all morning tending to the sick in the village.”

Ja, that was another thing. The Queen not only liked to take care of the household herself but also nursed the ill. A man may have the estate, but did he have the hearts of its people? She believed a queen should have interest in helping others. Because they had so much and others had so little. Their kingdom’s wealth made it apparent that they should be helping others. In völva staff, she was dedicated to healing her own öorlog and wyrd. _Without self work, we can not help others._ She traveled widely to test her knowledge and gain broader insights. She had help but only on the days that she decided to clean. It was unusual, but no one argued with the Queen of the kingdom.

“Mother, you did not! You know how dangerous that is while Father is away!”

“I am _fine_ , Bengeirr. I have you as my tether and I know how to preserve my strength.”

“A tether is _not_ an anchor!”

“Do not make this about me. I won’t do it again unless it is absolutely necessary. Now, you know what your task is.”

“Ja, Mother.” Kylo nodded, to help curve her frustration. 

She lifted her chin, put her shoulders back, and nodded. “Good, then. You boys better go get washed up for náttverðr. It’s in an hour. Skause and bread.”

She cooked, too. All the other queens in the neighboring kingdoms would never dare, but she did. She really was something special.

His stomach grumbled, and his mouth watered from the idea of juicy vegetables and meat. He stood, pushing Poe one last time on the shoulder. He walked forward, the shallow puddle of water on the floor splashing. 

She whipped the rag at him, lashing it on his arm painfully. 

“Ow, what was that for?” He rubbed the small red welt on his arm.

“You know what that’s for.” She smirked with a glint of mischief in her eyes. He paused, his lips curving in an attractive smile. It lit his eyes, giving her a glimpse of the boy she had loved.

“Mother Leidvar!”

His breath hitched when he heard Rey’s angelic voice. He turned left and right, looking for a place to hide, but there was nowhere he could get to in time besides the curtain.

He ran behind it to hide himself behind the long drape. He felt ridiculous. But he could not have Rey see him like that.

“Rey?” The Queen asked, with slight hesitation. 

“I want to try this new recipe for the fish. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. You’re turning out to be an amazing cook.”

Kylo gulped. _Rey was cooking the food?_ He’d have an erection knowing her graceful hand touched it and made it with love. His reaction to her was that strong. He inhaled, pulling in the sweet scent of her, and his cock jerked in his trousers.

“Why is it all wet in here?” Rey asked, looking around.

“My fault. I walked on my Lady’s newly clean floors all wet from being outside,” Poe covered for him. 

“Well, that was just foolish.” But the laughter in her voice said something else.

“Can you do me a favor, Lady?” Poe asked, his voice closer to where he was hiding. _He better not give my presence away._

“Call me Rey, please.” 

“Apologies. Rey, can you please take a few towels to the upstairs and have the servants fill the tin with hot water? I wouldn’t normally ask, but it is important.”

“Alright, Lord Poe.” Rey’s small patter of footsteps left the room.

Right as he exhaled, the curtain was ripped open, and standing in front of him was a wet Poe and an amused Queen.

“Ergi,” Poe taunted and crossed his arms.

“Oh, stop. I find it sweet. You care for Rey so much?” asked the Queen.

Kylo ran his hand over his face, a little embarrassed. “Ja, very much so. But you made it clear not to go near her. I agree with you. She has made a fool of me.” He stepped out of his spot, but Poe’s palm slapped against his chest.

“Do not allow the men to see what I know for certain.” Poe growled, and it was the same sound he made right before he ran into battle. He was protective. “You are my family. You are a Viking. You are my brother. You have grown too fond of her. You’ve neglected everything else, including your realm and all that you should have looked after in it. T’will be your undoing,” he spat. Poe whipped his head back and forth and stomped toward a large sword. “What is happening around us is _your_ plan. Blood does not lie. If I were to cut your belly open, would Viking blood not stain the grass or run through the rivers?”

Kylo suddenly pulled back, stayed his weapon, grabbed his armor, and started backing out the door. The Queen reached for Poe’s arm, stopping him from striking the man in question. “You cannot kill your lord, heir to the crown.”

“He disrespects this family. He shall not fail. I won’t allow it.” Poe’s chest heaved. He had never been an úlfhéðnar like Kylo — quick to temper, a fighter to lose all thought and reason and battle with nothing more than savage intent. Poe believed in a cool head in battle and had never relished in needless death. 

But he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. _Perhaps Kylo caught a sickness from the foreign land._

“Something vexes you, Poe?” The Queen tapped her chin, chuckling. “Might want to close your mouth.”

Poe’s fingertips touched his lips. He straddled the bench, a grimace on his lips as though she read his thoughts. 

“He must be stronger. Be steadfast!”

“Be kind. Do you not remember when your fate combined with Apailana’s?” 

“I do, Lady.”

“One day Freyr, the god of fertility, brother to Freya, sat in Odin’s high-seat looking out over the world. Towards the north he caught sight of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It was Gerd, the daughter of the mountain giant Gyme. When Gerd raised her arms, the whole sky gleamed. Creating the Northern Lights. Freyr fell deeply in love; he could not talk, sleep or eat. He was filled with melancholy and only wanted to die, if he could not have her, Freyr’s friend, Skirne, was therefore sent to Gerd to propose to her on Freyr’s behalf and after much trial and tribulation, she finally consented to marry him…”

“I do not know about Freyr, but I was born a man from nowhere with oceans of sand and camels outnumbering people.”

“Men are beasts by nature and not to be trusted, which is why they should always exercise restraint. Wait, I said. Wait until you are safely married because of the possibilities of complications. Do I have to spell out what those complications are?” A nervous tic began in Kylo’s right eye as it always did when contemplating fighting… or Rey granting delight. “Or you are not the drengr I thought you were. I want you to do it when you marry. Marching into the bedchamber and snatching the bride will cause a major feud, assuming you even get out alive. I forbid it.”

Poe concentrated on breathing. That woman would get his brother killed or, worse, start a feud which lasted generations. “Why wait until he was bewitched to tell him?”

“These children are not doing much.”

“Because their tongues wag of war.” Poe’s eyes dimmed. “I was raised on these Viking lands, with these Viking people, and never has there been fighting in Skywalkerland. I miss the King. He at least kept the peace. You, Kylo, have neither courted or attended to the Lady Rey. If she told you she no longer had any desire to marry you, it would be wise of her and I’d hope you’d freely release her from any agreement in your name. However, in the unlikelihood that she’d still be willing to proceed with the marriage, then we all know what she might expect: She will be queen to a kingdom at war and likely soon to be attacked again. She’ll be married to a sea king who is in present danger of being overthrown and assassinated. Forgive me, but I cannot make the truth sound any more melodious. It is time to end this madness and do what we set out to do: Reclaim your birthright. If she gains their hearts, you can guarantee that they will not rebel against you or your chosen successors.”

“I’d like to think so.” The Queen tilted her chin upwards. “My family has cared for this land since before the days when Odin himself walked among us. The folk here are honest and loyal. Those who rebelled left with my late father. Never to return.”

A sardonic smile crossed Poe’s lips. “I find a full belly guarantees loyalty far more than blood or tradition.”

“Brother, I do love you, but I rather tire of your preaching. Have you ever thought of becoming a priest?”

“Ever since I was a boy.”

“Lies are a favorite of the fairer sex.”

“And what of you? Your uncle baptized you once and you’re still not a Christian.”

“Ungrateful lout.”

“Lord. Do you think I revel in your suffering?”

“Ja. I know you do.”

“Nei. I do not. But I have to. Sometimes you have to strike the babe when it wants its teat and cannot have it.”

“Stop bleating like damn sheep, the both of you, and listen to me. Rey has nothing to go back to nor any wish to do so. If she were Bengeirr’s wife, she would gladly share his dangers and tribulations, and help him carry the terrible burden that fate has placed upon him.”

“She told you this, Lady? I had not expected their union to proceed in this manner.”

“Good. I would hate you to ever think Rey predictable, Poe.”

Poe nudged her. “See how they finger their weapons.” The Queen blinked and focused on the raucous longhouse. “How they itch to use them. If chaos comes, what will you do?”

“What me and my old shiny friend, Decisive, have always done.”

Poe’s smooth brow furrowed. “You don’t seem vexed by this, Lord,” he went on.

“There’s nothing I can do about it,” Kylo said, eyeing a group of men snarling at each other. 

A farmer stumbled into Einarr the Pretty, and he shoved the man all the while watching a maid the way a serpent eyes a mouse. She turned away, but his eyes burned holes in her back.

“It’s alright, Pouya,” Kylo spoke up. The use of his full name brought him out of his troubled thoughts. “I know what I am. No amount of heritage, spells, history, can change the blood that flows through my body.”

“Such a strong man you are, with the strength of a king. The king you will one day become.”

“What do you know of me, Mother? The boy you knew died a long time ago. I am not what this kingdom needs…”

The Queen took a deep breath to steady her nerves. This man, this _warrior_ standing before her, so forbidding and brutal, was _not_ the boy she remembered. But he was no less honorable for the change that his harsh life had wrought. To the contrary, he carried an edge that somehow served to make him desirable for the sacred role with that mystical allure taken on by all things forbidden. Despite that, he still seemed so familiar to her. 

“...We are born into this world to parents who are full of hope. They want to see us succeed at anything and everything. They want us safe, healthy, and happy. But no matter how strongly they may want a thing, desire is not enough to make it so. Each of us must decide for ourselves what we want in this life. We have to choose to pursue our happiness, not just hope that what our mothers and fathers want for us will suddenly happen.” His heart beat painfully in his chest, and his hands were clenched into tight fists. He was hanging onto his control, but it was quickly slipping away. “I know you had high hopes for me. What you imagined for me and what I’ve become are two very different things. You overplayed your hand.”

“I know that underneath your darkness there is much a good man as my husband, Hannes. Even when that demon stood on your shoulder. You came home.”

She remembered that day so clearly in her mind. She’d not laid eyes on him in well over five years; he’d been gone, fighting across the sea. Even before that, her knowledge of him had become sparse and relegated to stolen glimpses and awkward meals when their family met. He had still been a boy the last time he made the long trek, alone through the forest, from Snærr to their kingdom.

Now, he had the broad shoulders of a seasoned warrior, made even wider by the fur cloak draped across them. She could barely tear her gaze from their solid strength, but he prodded the fire and she noticed how large and strong his hands had become. Much different from the tiny hands she kissed and held in hers so many years ago. A trembling began somewhere deep within her. Her little boy was gone.

 _I didn’t know if I would ever see you again._ Her words came out a bit breathless so she forced herself to take a deep breath as she stepped closer. She wanted to touch him, to reassure that he was really there and this wasn’t some dream, to know the feel of his shoulders beneath her hands so she could compare it to her dreams. She wanted to reach out and hold onto him before he left and she would never see him again. To shake him from taking himself away from her.

“You returned with Poe in the autumn.” 

She didn’t give voice to the words, but the accusation hung silently in the air between them. _Why have you stayed away?_ A shadow moved in the corner behind him and she realized their dog, Cnut, had been given a hank of dried meat to chew. Kylo had come prepared, it seemed. 

He took a deep breath and seemed to come to some decision, because when his gaze lit on hers, he looked at her so directly that she was left speechless. There was no jesting there, no artifice, or even a veneer of civility. There was just a restless energy that he seemed determined to harness so that it focused completely on her. When he spoke, his voice was textured with despair. _Snærr said you and Father did not want me. If I saw you again, you would have me killed for treason._

_You would have believed him? Knowing that he drips poison in men’s ears?_

He’d found it was difficult to believe. Or perhaps he was afraid to believe it, afraid that even knowing that, it would change nothing. That he still wouldn’t be their son. To be able to stand at their side with honor.

_You must know you are my heart, Bengeirr._

_I passed the winter away from home, in places that would make you shudder with revulsion._ He shook his head. _With horrible people… because I did not want to return to my mother’s home and face you and Father. Every night I imagined home and it was torture. When I was finally released from the demon’s bidding, I came to you as soon as I could._

Now he was where he belonged, with his mother and kinfolk, and he was reluctant to get away from the confrontation.

“I want to do things properly for once in my life. I want to be the man my mother and father raised. At the moment I can offer her nothing.”

“You can offer her love. You can offer her happiness. That’s all Rey wants. She doesn’t care about the rest,” the Queen said.

“Ja, but I do,” Kylo admitted begrudgingly. “She deserves more than a man like me.”

“You’re the best man I know, Kylo.” Poe pounded his chest to reinforce his words. 

“Everything in its time, son.”

“It doesn’t fix—” 

“She doesn’t notice the scar.” Poe tossed his hand down and the bench splintered from the blunt force of hitting the wood.

“Everyone notices the scar!” Kylo yelled. Split flew from his mouth, and blood rushed from his face, hearing it with madness.

“Everyone,” he lowered his voice to a whisper.

The Queen and Poe said nothing.

Kylo pushed past Poe, running away from the endless argument that tended to go in circles.

His mother placed a hand on his arm. “I still see her as your bride. But the path to that future will not be an easy one, I’m afraid.” Suddenly his mother’s eyes lost focus, and she grew very still. He was in the presence of the Völva. When she began to speak, Kylo closed his eyes, attempting to add images to her words. 

“Death, pain, lies, betrayal, love, joy and life all stand between you and your union with Rey. It will be your perseverance, integrity, determination, need, and love that will lead your way to destiny. Nothing great and beautiful and right happens without struggle. It is the growth in the journey that gives meaning to the ultimate outcome. You must be strong, Bengeirr, future king of your people. You must not falter, and you must not give up on your destiny. If you do, your beloved will be surrounded in darkness, instead of your light. She will be punished with pain, instead of touched out of love and desire. Should you fail, your beloved will be stripped bare until she is just an empty shell. Only then will her captors grant her death.” 

Her words hit him like a blast of power. The breath was knocked from his lungs, and had not Poe grabbed him beneath his arms, he would have landed on his knees. He hung his head down as the words, _should I fail_ , beat against his head. 

“There is hope, son,” his mother said, her voice returning to normal. Kylo’s lips had hardened into a determined line, but deep in his eyes lurked the longing of the boy he had been. It nearly broke the Queen’s heart, so she softened her voice. “She is not gone. She is still here, and she still has your protection.” She lifted his head and stared into his eyes. “You are one of the strongest men I have ever known. I do not just mean physically. When you make a decision, there is nothing that can stand between you and what you want. Do you want Rey? Do you want to be the one who provides for her, protects her, and fights with and for her? Do you want to love her?”

There was no hesitation when he spoke. “With everything inside of me.”

“Then _you_ have to be the one that makes it so. You. Others will help you, and you will need their help. Ultimately, you will be their commander, and you will be the one to lead them to victory.”

While he did not envy the Queen the task put before her, her unwavering (almost) faith in the power of love was the one glimmer of hope that Kylo needed to become that person. He felt the iron will that his mother spoke of rise like a phoenix from the ashes inside him. As usual, his mother was right. He was relentless when he set his sights on something, and now he had. Not something, but someone — someone to inspire him to be relentless.

“Go now,” his mother said, pushing him back the way he had come. “Protect her with your life. She is not just what saves our people. She is what saves you as well.”

Kylo had no idea what she meant, and he knew she would not explain it to him, so he did not bother asking. Instead he gave her forehead a quick kiss and then marched back in the direction of the palace — in the direction of Rey. And he beseeched every god he knew that she was merciful.

He stomped up the steps to the upper storey. When he got to the door of the bathroom, he heard a soft hum. Rey was singing as she filled the tin with water. It was a beautiful sound. One that could put him to sleep. Her voice got closer and closer to the door, and again, he found himself looking for a hiding place. He ran down the hallway and took a left, placing his back against the wall. Peeking his head around the corner, his heart raced when he saw her closing the door behind her.

 _Fuck. She’s prettier than all the lands I’ve ever seen. Anything I’ve ever seen._ Her hair was up in a delicate braid, pinned to her head, showing the long curve of her neck. His lips twitched to feel her skin and kiss the part of her neck that pulsed with her heartbeat.

“Poe, Mother Leidvar shall put you in time out if you keep this up,” she giggled to herself. Rey left, turning down the corridor right near the staircase. He took his chance.

He ran toward the bathroom and shut the door, leaning his back against it, and sighed. This was exactly why he needed his own place. Being near her was too much to handle. 

Steam rose from the tub, and lavender flowers floated on top. She even made the water look beautiful.

He didn’t stand a chance.

~oOo~

“Oh, goddesses! I forgot the linens,” Rey muttered to herself. She knew she came down this corridor for a reason, but it slipped her mind. Her dress swished when she turned around to walk down the hallway again. She ran her hand along the stone as it led her to the closet. As a child, she’d always dreamt what it would be like to live in a mighty and beautiful hall like Húsavík’s and now that she did, it was ridiculous. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice the expert craftsmanship. The work of Skywalker’s Hall was quite skillful. There were magical looking signs and ornamentation sculpted on much of the front of the abode. Two rows of posts ran down the center of the great room, disappearing into a hazy gloom beyond the large fire. Sections of tables and ornately carved beds were tucked into nooks on either wall. The staircase was carved with more symbols. Lining one side of the house were rows of tightly packed animal pelts that were used for sleeping. On the other side of the house, there were designated areas for storing weapons and tools, a loom where Inger was steadily working, and the master bedchamber was exquisite with two huge windows from ceiling to floor with window hangings even more ornate than in the great room. It even held a private tub and a large wood-framed bed that belonged to the King and Queen.

The women’s bower was situated behind the hall where over the years various rooms had been added according to need. In a way, Rey was fortunate. At least Kylo had demanded her own quarters, which were rather stunning, and was valued enough by his mother to receive them. A smaller area in the back of the building was used for the menagerie, but was also filled with storage goods. Rey’d always beheld a soft spot for the wounded. Animals held a particularly special place in her heart because her emotional wounds, stemming from her childhood, were almost as severe as their physical wounds. They’d had a pet white bear once, which she delivered and tamed as a teenager. She used her knowledge of the sea to retrieve the young white bear from a dangerous ice flow by entering her boat upstream and letting the current carry her into the ice, to the bear, then back to shore. Danes, too, would sometimes domesticate wild animals trapped as cubs — especially bears. Brown bears were widely kept, and even imported into Isaland as pets where they were known as “house bears.” And, like one would buy a dress from a local merchant, Kylo had exotic beasts shipped in from all over Midgard. One night she woke up with a couple of wolf pups beside her, Kata and Kati, pressed close, their warm furry bodies assurance of her safety. Life couldn’t get much better than that. Unless Kylo’s big, strong arms held her every night. 

She let out a long, dreadful sigh. That shan’t be happening anytime soon. Several servants were scurrying about the hall attending to various duties. The smell of lamb roasting over the fire made her mouth water. Grabbing a few towels, she shut the door with her foot and meandered toward the bath again. She mopped up the floor where Poe had left a puddle of water, again. When she bent down, she saw a trail leading to the right, east wing.

“Poe.” She shook her head. She’d better clean it up before the Queen saw it. She didn’t mind doing what they asked. She didn’t see it as doing the servants’ work, but as a favor amongst friends.

Despite his official title as Hersir, Poe never once took advantage of it, preferring instead to continue working in the longhouse for the King and Queen. He taught her how to cook and clean as well.

She followed the water trail to the wall, and then it just stopped. “Huh,” she said, looking back and forth to see if there were any more wet spots, but none caught her eye. Odd. She shrugged her shoulders and got back to the bathroom floor.

Her eyes, able to see so much, plundered the shadows that dodged the bars of light no longer covered by the storm streaming in through the roof vent.

The heavy weight of the linens in her hand brought her out of her trance. More light spilled in through the central smoke hole in the roof above a rectangular hearth. Dust motes swam in the beams cast by the gloaming. She turned the knob of the door handle, and the heat from the tub hit her in the face, along with the smell of lavender. 

In the sifting light, she closed her eyes and inhaled. It was so relaxing. When she opened them again, her eyes locked on Kylo lounging in the tub. His legs were perched up on one side of the tin, and he had his arms laced behind his head. Kylo’s strip of inky black hair on top of his head was slicked-back and seemed blue wet. His biceps bulged. There were quite a few tattoos on his body that made her nipples bead. 

She wanted to run her tongue over all of them.

His body was his runestick and his tattoos were his saga. He was a canvas of his experiences. His story was etched in lines, shadows, circles, and woven knots. And she could read it on his arms, shoulders, back, chest, flanks, and legs even. They were like small pages in the saga of Bengeirr, of Kylo, in a way.

_Oh, my. I’m ogling him, and he doesn’t even know I’m here._

Her face turned bright red as her eyes traveled down his body. It was so beautiful. His belly was whipcord lean and glistened in the water and the thick slab of meat between his legs, laid against his thighs. It looked… inviting.

“Oh, goddesses!” she screeched.

She gulped, but she did not bother looking away, even though she was chastising herself the entire time. She’d never seen what a man had between his legs. She wondered how he would fit all of that inside her, being so heavy and thick. It brought to mind King Ozur’s stallions.

“Oh, shite!” he cursed. Kylo’s arms and legs flailed, making water go everywhere. “Valkyrie.” He cleared his throat and cupped the dangly member between his legs. 

She was a little sad when it was covered. She quite liked staring at it.

“How can I help you? Do you need something?” He cleared the clutter in his throat again. It yanked her out of the haze she found herself in. 

She could not help it. That part of the male anatomy was a mystery to her and it had not been of any interest at all until this moment. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off it, and she had to say, she was glad she hadn’t because she didn’t think any man could compare to her betrothed. His was big, tall, muscular, rough. Kylo’s beauty needed to be appreciated. She had a feeling it wasn’t. People could be cruel. She’d heard what people said about him, and she didn’t believe it for a moment. How could any call him ugly or cold-hearted? For he treated her as if she was made of spun glass, and his presence had awakened a primal desire within, teaching her the magical pleasures of the flesh.

“I’m… ummm. I just… these.” She lifted the linens in the air and placed them on the tabletop. She finally gained some sense and turned around, giving him her back. Her face heated. Her cheeks burned. She had to leave, but her feet couldn’t seem to move. They were stuck to the floor. 

The water spilled from the bath. He cleared his throat. “I’m decent.”

She turned around and averted her eyes again. He had a thin towel wrapped around his hips. Since his body was wet, the material stuck to his skin, and also, against his long cock pressed on his thigh. She could see every ridge of it. The vein. The thick ridge around the tip. 

He was far from decent.

“Um, I... my apologies. I hadn’t a clue you were in here. I would have knocked.” Her voice was low, barely a whisper. She was embarrassed she walked in on him bathing. “I truly had no idea. I thought the bath was for Lord Poe.” Then she realized how that sounded. “Not that I want to walk in on him — I don’t. Ever. I just thought he was walking around from the trail of water out the door, but I guess that was you,” she rambled, twisting her hands in front of her.

He shuffled his feet. “Ja, it was me.”

When she glanced up again, she gasped. The linen that covered his cock was tenting. She’d never seen a man hard before. She’d only seen his pointing right at her. “I, um, I better go. I… you… need to bathe, apparently. I’m interrupting.”

She hurried to the door, but she was too flustered. She couldn’t seem to grip the handle. Wetness pooled between her legs the longer she was in the same room as Kylo. She needed out. 

“Wait!” he called, reaching forward to grab her by the shoulder before she left. 

Her breath was stolen from her from his touch. His fingers wrapped fully around her shoulder. She tilted her head down to stare at the wide fingers easily wrapping around her. She imagined what it would be like for his arms to hold her as they entangled in each other’s bodies and the blankets.

“I’m sorry, Rey. I should have never of touched you without asking.” 

“Oh, it’s fine. I accept your apology. I’m the one who is sorry. I barged in on you. Please, continue with your bath.”

His hold weakened. Kylo’s rough, callused fingertips ran down her arm. Her body shivered as if it was cold, but she was far from it. Her hand laid flat against the wood. The rough grooves scratched against her hand. Kylo was behind her, and as she leaned her body against the door, he took a step forward.

She was no longer reaching for the door handle. She enjoyed the heat of his body near hers. Water dripped on the floor, splashing against her ankles. Her cheek laid against the door, and her breath left her lungs in short bursts. She’d never been so close to a man that wasn’t a comrade-in-arms before, not like this. Especially a man such as Kylo.

“Thank you for my bath.”

His deep voice reverberated through her body, shaking her core, vibrating the heat between her thighs. She wanted to whimper, but held it back in her throat. She did not want him to know how he affected her. A man like him was used to taking what he wanted. He had been coddled from birth, bred on a life of luxury. A man of high value. Would she submit to the man who was her captor? Or defy him?

 _Maybe both…_ her mind teased her options around. 

“Yo—you’re welcome,” she stuttered. 

She continued to fool herself into believing that she was his captive, but if she were being objective, she would know she was falling more and more into his web of seduction. When he was near, her heart would flutter, her blood would race into her veins, and most traitorous of all, she would feel a tingling between her thighs and her nipples would feel tight. If he knew that, she would be mortified!

Kylo did know however. He could tell how flustered she became when he was near. What she didn’t know was every time they were near each other, he was like a raging bull. His loins would ache and his cock would become full, heavy, and practically burst from his breeches. He wondered if she was ever the wiser when he always excused himself in her presence and would not return for awhile. This could not go on much longer. He’d had just about enough and decided then things needed to change. With his mind made up, the damn thing started growing hard again, and with a curse, he’d head outside to walk it off. He would have liked to ride, but in his condition, that would have been far too painful.

He took another step forward, and the towel brushed against her. A thousand thoughts flashed through her mind. Thoughts of him dropping that towel and taking her into the bath with him. Thoughts of him wrapping his muscular arms around her and having his way with her.

But they were just thoughts. 

He must have noticed how close he was to her because he took a step back. A low growl came from behind him, and for a moment, she forgot where she was, and spun around thinking she was in the same room with a wild animal.

When she saw his eyes, she realized she was not with a wild animal. She was with a man. She did not fear him. She felt everything and anything, except fear.

He kept walking back until he was near the tin again. He gave her his back and finally dropped the towel. She was left with the view of his pert bottom. She tried and averted her eyes, she really did, but the muscular backside kept her eyes locked. He stepped into the bath again and sank down, covering his body.

Disappointment coursed through her. She wanted him to stay above water. She wanted to stare at him again. Ogle him. Appreciate him. 

“Can you hand me more lavender, please?” he asked, with nothing but kindness in his voice.

“Of course.” The basin was next to her, full of the beautiful, purple flowers. Her hand shook as she reached for them. _It’s just Kylo. It’s just naked Kylo. Your naked, beautiful dark warrior._

She took a few steps and still kept her distance from the tin as she tossed them in water.

“Thank you, Valkyrie.”

“You’re welcome.”

“May I tell you something?”

“Ja.” She nodded, taking a step back toward the door.

“You’re beautiful. I just wanted you to know.”

Out of habit, she scoffed and shook her head. “I’ll leave you to your bath. Good day, Sea King.”

“Tattoos show that you’re an interesting person with an exciting story. Though, I believe I’m in need of more ink.”

“Hm?”

“Of me and you on the battlefield.”

“Hm?”

“So I can look back and reminisce.”

“Hm?”

“You know, when I ‘work myself.’”

Blunt refusal crossed her mind, but her traitorous mouth opened. “What?! You’re going to have a big tattoo of me so you can stroke your sword?” She grimaced as soon as the words passed her lips. 

“Dreams of late give me grief. Sleep filled with emerald eyes and burnished silk. The Gods send temptation to test me. And when I fail, I go into the woods to punish myself for that temptation. I should have stayed at the monastery.”

“Seems the Gods had different plans. Nonetheless, I’m sure the Christ god would have found a great servant in you. If anything were to happen, the Danes will need someone to turn to.”

“By Loki if I know anymore. He sees how you torment me… but I will resist you. I will let Loki see my strength, I will thank him for tempting me, and then praise him for resisting the temptation. Notwithstanding, I will folly onwards steadily and patiently after you depart. It’s written.”

“That you should...?” There was no mistaking that heated look in his eyes. She’d seen it enough in other men when they came to ask Fakse for her hand, though she never once welcomed it. But from him it was like the light of spring sun warming her skin after a particularly brutal winter. He had been the only one she ever imagined marrying. More than that. She came to a stop at the edge of the tub next to him, and fought her desire to touch him. 

“Once that door closes. It is my destiny. I’m enjoying the thought of it.”

“That’s… that’s overwhelming. See you!”

“See you.”

She rushed to the door, and that time, her hands were not numb from his body heat. 

She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it. Sweat was covering every inch of her body. It wasn’t from the bath. It was from _him._ She placed her hand on her chest. Her skin was heated. Her heart was racing. She couldn’t get the image of him naked and strangling his cock to the thought of her from her hugr. 

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and he thought she was beautiful enough to spell her out as a charm on his body for all time? He was just being goatish. There was no way a man of that strength, of that caliber, could ever want a cursed woman such as her to invoke the powers of protection unless he was stupid, desperate or half mad.

She made a right and ran toward her room, gripping the skirt of her dress as she ran. She reached her door, panting from the exertion. Her breasts were sore from bouncing from the sprint.

“Rey?” The Queen’s voice called from down the hall.

Her eyes shut from the horrible timing. She took a deep breath in. She could smell the wildness of the lavender hovering on her skin, like _his_ breath, like _his_ body, like _him._

She plastered a big smile on her face.

“Mother Leidvar, hello,” she greeted. She ran her hands over her dress and made sure her hair was in place. She acted as though she’d done something where the consequence was guilt, but she didn’t.

The only thing she felt was aroused from seeing her son in the buff.

She put the back of her hand against Rey’s forehead, making her feel like a child again.

She lied. For the first time in her entire arrival, she successfully lied to her mother-in-law. “I actually am feeling a bit under the weather. It isn’t a big deal. I think I may need rest. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure? Do you need anything?” 

“A nice drink of water would be good,” she said. 

“I’ll bring my daughter-in-law an entire bucket to quench her thirst. I’ll be right back.” She placed a quick kiss on Rey’s forehead. “Go lay down. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thank you, Mother Leidvar.” Rey gave her a small smile as she left.

She opened her bedroom door and slammed it shut. She huffed a breath, blowing a piece of hair out of the way. Never in her whole life had she felt so scatter-brained. She couldn’t breathe. All of this was too much. She needed to be free of this clothing. She unlaced the ribbons in the back of her dress and let it fall, until all that was left were her undergarments. 

Her lungs expanded, dragging in a deep breath for the first time in what felt like hours, but she knew it’d only been a few minutes. She plopped on the bed, still feeling out of place and hot. Her heart was still throbbing underneath the bone of her chest, pounding against it, as if it begged for freedom, for satisfaction, for release.

Spreading her arms out, she fell back, letting the feathers catch her and the blanket hold her. Flashes of Kylo berated her mind. All she saw was him lounging, standing there with nothing but a thin linen covering his privates, his wet hair slicked back, his body drenched from water running down his muscular chest like a waterfall, and his pink, thick cock tenting the front of the towel. 

Why was he hard? It could not have been for her. It wasn’t hard when she first got a look at him. 

She shook her head. She was a fool for thinking it could have been for her. 

A knock on her door erased her insecurity, but not the naked images of Kylo. She leaned against the headboard and bit her lip before calling out, “Come in.”

She laughed. The Queen really did bring her a bucket of water. 

“Only the best for my girl.” She smiled, placing the water next to her bed. 

“Thank you, Mother Leidvar.”

“Are you sure you are alright? You seem frazzled. A little glassy-eyed. Shall I go to my medicine chest and make you something?” she asked, her brows pinching with worry. 

Rey placed her hand on hers. “Nei, Mother Leidvar. I must have eaten a bad piece of fruit. I just need to lay down for a while.”

“I know you want me to leave you be,” the Queen said, her perceptive eyes narrowing on her. “But let me help you get cleaned up and into your nightclothes. And I’ll bring you some food so you don’t have to go down to supper,” she offered. 

“And some mead?” asked Rey.

The Queen nearly smiled. Leave it to Rey to bring mead in as the savior. “Mead doesn’t fix everything,” the Queen teased.

Rey shrugged. “Maybe, but it sure as Hel calms the nerves. Makes things seem a bit less dire, if only for a little while.”

The Queen was nodding as if what Rey was saying was the most logical explanation ever. “I hate that you aren’t feeling well, but I’m glad you won’t be near Bengeirr like this. I see the way he looks at you.”

“How is that?” She asked, with a little more curiosity than she should have.

“Like a piece of meat,” she snickered.

_Oh, Mother Leidvar. If you had any idea of how I looked at him moments ago, you’d rethink that._

“I’ve never noticed,” she lied. Again. 

“Oh, please.” She kissed Rey’s cheek this time. “I remember those feelings. The desperation, the wanting. I _still_ have those feelings. Just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there isn’t a roaring fire in the hearth, you know.”

Rey bit her tongue. She just wanted to forget today ever happened. The Queen spent the next half hour sponge-bathing her, braiding her hair, and rubbing her down with the lotion that she usually only reserved for special occasions. Several times Rey simply closed her eyes and let herself take comfort in the Queen’s ministrations. She didn’t like feeling helpless. She didn’t like feeling as though she was completely out of control of her own life. Pushing it all aside for the brief time it took her mother-in-law to pamper her, feed her, and then tuck her into bed had been exactly what she needed. In that moment, she had been so very thankful for her mother-in-law’s pushiness and quiet presence.

By the time she left, Rey was completely relaxed. She wanted it to last. She wanted to be able to keep the memories of his touch at bay at least until morning. Unfortunately, her mind had other plans. Gradually, his mellifluous words refilled her mind, and his face smirked at her again as he held her captive against the oak door. She should have fought. She should have stomped, or done something to get out of his hold. But she hadn’t. She had stood there like a whipped dog and let the man seduce her. Where the Helheim had her courage gone? When had she become a doormat for him to walk on?

Pathetic.

As she considered all the things she should have done rather than enduring his amorous behavior, Rey took the ladle and scooped up water into her mouth and sipped.

She had a deep thirst she couldn’t seem to quench, and she had a feeling it had nothing to do with water.

~oOo~

Kylo’s head hit the back of the tin. He hit his hand against the water, frustrated with how the interaction went with Rey. He’d miscalculated badly. His entire being had wanted to taste her deep red lips and he’d allowed her to escape. He had no business calling himself a sea king if he was and behaved like an untried warrior who had never bedded a woman before. Why did he get out of the water? Why did he step closer to her? Why did he touch her?

He had never been more wide awake and very aware of her perusal of him, and it took every ounce of control he possessed to keep from becoming very thick and hard. He knew he could not continue to do that for very much longer, so he turned away from her and let his imagination run amok. At every turn, when he thought of her perfect breasts, shapely waist and ass, he grew heavy and hard. He was in abject misery. Why did he not take her? That’s what she was expecting after all. That was not his way, he wanted her eager, wet and willing, moaning and calling his name when he spilled his seed inside her. Ja, that’s what would make his release worthwhile. He would have his darling bride to ram himself into. She possessed defiance, a bad thing to have in a warrior but just possibly fine in a woman. He didn’t exactly understand why he wanted her to be different, but he did, and at that moment he decided he would set out to win her into his robes willingly and without trickery. He tightened his grip on his cock. “This is the beginning, Valkyrie, not the end. No one plays me for a fool.”

After quite a while his cock settled down and so did he. When he awoke, remembering the wonderful dreams of her, he wondered if he would ever be able to keep his mind on something else? By Thor, that was a good question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Krútt (mitt) — “sweetie,” “cutie” (used for children, animals, and between lovers).
> 
> Hugr — thought or mind.
> 
> Öorlog — primal law and refers to the players of inheritance, ancestor memories, plus one’s own actions. This complex concept is explained through a spindle thread each human is born with and spun by parents, grandparents, great grandparents ad infinitum. The choices humans make can either increase their luck and strengthen their wyrd or decrease it, not just for themselves but for their descendents, community members, and humanity.
> 
> Wyrd — fate. In “cleaning up” the lineage and healing one’s own öorlog, the root is healed and a new wyrd formed, i.g., one heals for their ancestors as they are them.
> 
> Ergi — an Old Norse term of insult, denoting effeminacy, cowardice or other unmanly behavior. Argr (also ragr) is “unmanly” and ergi is “unmanliness.” To accuse another man of being argr was called _scolding_ (see _nīþ_ ), and thus a legal reason to challenge the accuser in _holmgang_ (duel). If holmgang was refused by the accused, he could be outlawed (full outlawry), as this refusal proved that the accuser was right and the accused was argr. If the accused fought successfully in holmgang and had thus proven that he was not argr, the scolding was considered an unjustified, severe defamation, and the accuser had to pay the offended party full compensation. A man’s reputation was worth more to him than his life. There were three words — should exchanges between people ever reached such dire limits — which all had full outlawry as the penalty; if a man called another _ragr_ , _stroðinn_ (“sexually used by a man”), or _sorðinn_ and _sansorðinn_ (“demonstrably sexually used by another man”). As they were to be prosecuted like other _fullréttisorð_ (verbal offenses for which full compensation or fines must be paid to the injured party) and, moreso, a man had the right to kill in retaliation for these three words. He had the right to kill in retaliation on their account over the same period as he had the right to kill on account of women, in both cases up to the next Alþing (Assembly). The man who uttered these words fell with forfeit immunity at the hands of anyone who accompanied the man about whom they were uttered to the place of their encounter. For instance, the practice of _seiðr_ (sorcery), specifically a man who was a _seiðmaðr_ (one who practiced women’s magic) was considered and called a _seiðskratti_ (“sorcerer”) in the Viking Age, and in Icelandic accounts and medieval Scandinavian laws, such as the term argr had connotations of a receptive, passive role of a freeborn man during homosexual intercourse.


	11. The Snake Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚔️Did you know that King Harald “Bluetooth” Gormsson’s, of Denmark and Norway, nickname allegedly comes from the extreme amount of blueberries he ate, staining his teeth? Commonly viewed as a great unifier, he’s the inspiration for Bluetooth wireless tech (because it “unites” devices) and the logo is actually his initials in younger Futhark Runes.
> 
> H (ᚼ) + B (ᛒ) = 

Out in the bright sunlight, Rey found the settlement already well astir, folk hurrying about, calling to one another in greeting. She paused involuntarily to take in the lie of the land in this new and foreign place. 

The settlement face southward, unlike hers in Húsavík, which faced roughly north. But the sea — source of so much joy to her, always — still made its presence known. Just below the clustered buildings lay a sheltered bay, its arms stretched toward the infinity of a milky blue horizon. The rising sun rode far to the east. To get home, she would have to sail north out of the bay, then follow that sun and steer west, in the direction of Isaland. 

As she took one step after another, she could feel the stares and felt as awkward as a one-legged goose. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and said, “Good morning, all!” She expected no return greeting. The streets glittered under the hot sun. She couldn’t see Kylo anywhere, and couldn’t believe her good fortune. Nearly kissing him the other evening after he ambushed her had been a mistake. She should have gone for another approach like stamping on his foot. All the days past ran together in a fog. At any rate, here she was and most grateful.

The house settled into a routine with Rey becoming a part of it. She was allowed anywhere on the estate now, and each day she became a little less unsure. Kylo gave her a beautiful little mare she named Baby and they became the best of friends. The household of Skywalker was taking notice of the lord and lady getting along.

Ventures were taken more into town. At first it was not so pleasant, as she received stares of condemnation and anger. However, as time went on, the townspeople became more friendlier, as Rey greeted them and carried on small conversations as each one encountered yesterday’s gestures.

Steam rose from the earth. And all sustenance, all life, came from Njord. The heart of a fisherman was his wife, whose arms never rested. Beneath Sól no one thought of choosing a different life. Rey stood in the ice-cold pond, fish spear raised, her eyes on a particularly large sea trout. 

She and trout were old adversaries. Fishing helped to hone her eye and her hand when she was at home as well as providing food for the table. And out here in the pond, no one ever complained that she was far too tall, too clumsy or too unwomanly. Not that anyone did much these days. It was amazing how quickly people fell silent when you had gold in your purse, a reputation as a canny trader and a sword by your side that you knew how to use. 

The river dared her to fall asleep to the wistful sounds of the water as it rushed by her. The branches of a large weeping willow tree hung heavy with leaves that skimmed the surface of the water. Cherry blossoms floated on top of the fresh, cold water, and it looked like a painting.

She loved this place. She always ran to it when she needed to get away from the palace. Inger could be overprotective and bossy, and sometimes, she thought the matron could forget she was her own person. She needed breathing room. She knew a lot of decisions were made for royal women, but she didn’t do well following that line of thought. She’d been told more than once that she had a mouth that did not belong to a lady.

If being a lady meant always bending to a man’s will, then she was proud of her mouth and what she had to say. She thought what she wanted was important, but it always fell on deaf ears. That’s why she was here, fishing in her favorite pond and watching the sun peek through the branches. It brought her so much peace and joy, which were two things she forgot existed sometimes.

 _You’re driving your husband mad_ , Poe had told her. She’d found the spot a week ago. It had become a retreat of sorts, a place where she could think, pray, and believe, however weakly, that everything was going to be fine. She’d been making the trek every day the past seven days, seeking solace in the wood. A butterfly fluttered in front of her, showing off its gorgeous blue and white wings. It landed on her arm, bringing a smile to her frowning face. 

“Why, hello there. Aren’t you beautiful,” she muttered, watching its wings flap up and down. It was such a mesmerizing sight. Circles of light, surrounded by sky blue, were emphasized by black outlining. 

It continued to crawl over her hand, so she twisted and turned, making sure she could still see this wonderful creature.

“Thanks for stopping by!” She lifted her arm into the air, and the butterfly flew away and over the river, disappearing into the other side of the woods.

She wished she could do the same. 

_Pray on it._

And how was Rey to manage that? Would prayers cause such a thing? It seemed she had done nothing but pray since the long boats were first sighted off the shore of their settlement. Yet what other hope did she have? 

Sick with dread, she could feel Kylo. She hated to make him feel helpless and worried, but her spirit was restless. The only time she had felt any semblance of peace was when she was training with the other shieldmaidens. She’d had a feeling this relief came because the struggle and rigor of the drills gave her an outlet for the pain and anger that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface of her emotions. There was nothing more distracting than feeling her arm vibrating to the marrow from the impact of an axe on shield as Fakse put her through her paces.

On top of the anxiety caused by Fakse’s unknown fate, the Queen’s prophecies weighed on her mind. They came, went, and usually didn’t make any sense to her at all. She kept trying to sort through them, but there were no points of reference. One timeline bled into another. And being exhausted probably didn’t help her mental acuity.

“I’m just a bundle of laughs,” she said to herself.

 _No one expects you to be skipping through the village, Rey,_ her mother-in-law’s voice echoed in her mind. _You’re handling everything with the grace of a queen._

She wondered about Kylo, hoping to get her attention away from her pity party. She’d expected he’d be leading a felag to the West by now. She knew from talking to Poe that he’d like to. But Kylo couldn’t just ignore Leidvar’s orders. He respected her, not only as his mother, but as his queen. He would follow her orders to the rune no matter how he felt inwardly on the matter.

Kylo was a good man. He refused to break his promise. He’d think long and hard before he made any vow, and in his short life, he’d only given his word a handful of times. Why? Because others had to be able to trust his words. He could not lead if he was an oath breaker. He was an honorable man and he was determined to keep Rey safe. If he had to sacrifice himself to make that happen, then he’d freely laid down his life. He meant well. She truly believed he thought he knew what was best for her, but when he did, he ended up silencing her, making her think that her wants were not valid. The Queen beckoned her son, who’d been thrust together with Rey by the whims of fate, to give comfort if needed. Almost immediately, they began to quarrel about where they would live. Rey preferred the hills of Kylo’s childhood home, with Leidvar, and eating dinners in her chambers instead of dining with the court, while Kylo longed for the calm sea air. It was the first time in a very long time Rey’d eaten as a family. Even Inger joined them. Her heart was overflowing with love by the time the evenings were ending. As they each said their goodnights, the Queen would come over and tightly hug Rey to her. At twenty, Rey was a woman, but a part of her still craved the touch of a mother. Or, in this case, her mother-in-law. Neither got to meet their mothers. Rey’s mother also died in childbed at the age of twenty. It was a common enough occurrence and, for women, one of the hazards of marriage, but for Rey’s father it had been an added shock. The shock had been great and the sorrow also. At a stroke Rey’s father found himself alone with all the care of a large estate and six young children. Every time he looked at the woman-child he would see the true cause of his wife’s death. _How can I be expected to love such a curse? A broken hand can mend, but a broken heart cannot._ Her father had drilled that notion into her head since she first toddled about the yard. Fakse had taken Rey in as a babe. It was only natural the shieldmaiden would be especially watchful of her. 

Fakse knew what Rey was like in personal combat. It was all in her mind. Because of what happened to her when she was eight. There was very little to wonder why which voice won above all. 

Her father had a lot to answer for. He had been too quick with his fists and tongue, taking particular pleasure in tormenting her older siblings. He had only stopped when she stood up to him, waving a sword in his face and threatening to use it. His face had turned an interesting shade of purple, and his teeth were gritted so tightly together that she was sure they would break at any moment. He’d retaliated by beating her until her back was the matching color, but he had left the others alone. 

It wasn’t his fists she feared, but his cruel tongue. It was bad enough that he took great delight in telling her how few feminine charms she possessed, but enduring his blue gaze was far more humiliating, leaving her with her in little doubt of her own inadequacies of a desirable woman — her figure was far too thin and angular, her chin too masculine and even her hands were calloused from raising the frames of longhouses and hammering the ribs of longships, rather than lily white and free from hard work as a lady’s hands should be. Spiraling about her figure there was a creature interlaced on itself that formed the divine Jörmungandr. Since her father had so fondly hailed her the _Lady of the Beasts_ —

“Magnus said a lot of stupid things,” Fakse couldn’t help but reply. “Now he is dead from drinking far too much ale. He can’t hurt you again. Ever.”

“But… but…” she swallowed nervously.

“Our family prospers. Didn’t King Ozur say how pleased he is with the amount of gold we brought back from our latest trading voyage?” Rey attempted a bright smile. “You contributed to it.”

Rey shrugged. “I’m still not a great warrior like my mother. The King will eventually demand a seasoned warrior, one who can lead felags and hold this land, not just a shieldmaiden.”

“You’ve other talents,” Fakse said before Rey listed her perceived failings as a warrior or King Ozur’s stubborn refusal to allow her to lead a felag East. “You acquitted yourself well in Tønsberg. You saved the lodestone from being washed overboard on that wave.”

Rey gave a sad smile. “That was pure luck and we’d have never been near those rocks if I’d paid attention.”

“You’re skilled at languages.” Rey’s nostrils flared slightly, reminding Fakse of a high-strung horse who was about to refuse to get on board ship. 

“An enemy will challenge with the sword, not with verses of poetry.”

Fakse stared at her charge. Where had her backbone gone? If she loved her kinsmen like she claimed, she would be willing to fight for them. “Panicking never solves anything. You’re seventeen now, not an untried lass attending her first assembly. Every man has a weakness. Study him, find it and exploit it if you want this life.”

Rey hung her head. Her untamable shock of brown hair fell forward, hiding her face. Unlike her brothers, who took after their mother and were far shorter, Rey took after her tall, strong father. Their father used to say he’d been doubly cursed — his youngest daughter was taller than most men and his sons prettier than most women. 

“The Norns will have a different man in mind for you.”

Rey turned her head away. “There won’t be a man for me. I love being a warrior with all my heart.”

“So speak all lovers until they meet the one man their thread crosses.” She waited for Rey’s sheepish smile. 

Her eyes burnt with a bright flame. “It’s only because you’ve never been in love to remarry that you make jokes.”

“Me in love? Gods forbid. I have a household to run and hungry mouths to feed.” Love was something that happened to women who didn’t tower over all the men and who knew how to dance prettily and pour the drink with the right amount of simpering deference. Her father’s scorn for once had held a ring of truth. 

“Some day, Rey, you will know what it is like to have your heart ripped out.”

“I am a shieldmaiden. First and foremost. I won’t marry unless the man can defeat me in combat. The King agreed to my pledge. I fed him a tale about my abilities disappearing if a man sates his baser needs on me. A convenient falsehood. I’m not the first to use it.” Rey made a practice of throwing her fishing spear. She’d turned her father’s cruel jest around and had made it into a virtue. “Don’t distract me with discussions about my future.”

“What do you intend to do, if Ozur won’t delay for the fair Rey’s hand? Fare eastwards?”

The pleading expression on Rey’s face became truly heartbreaking. But above all else, if she did as the law commanded, she would lose whatever chance she might still have to find the boy and gain answers. A king’s advisor must marry whomever the king decrees. Should she follow her heart and sacrifice the lives of hundreds to be with the one she longed for? Or should she do as the king commanded and give up all that she loved to serve and protect her people? “This is also an insult to the family. Bloodaxe will say he broke the agreement because…”

“Because I am unnatural and lead this house with my sword and arm. Should I be sticking to my spinning and weaving, and wring my hands when we lose everything to some arrogant sea king who sails into the harbor demanding tribute?” Rey finished before Fakse had a chance to say the words. “Because I am talented at the arts of magic and war instead of those of love?”

“Going Viking isn’t what women do.” Fakse coughed. “You have to admit Magnus had a point.”

“And yet he loved my mother.” White-hot anger flashed through Rey. She had rejoiced the day her father had died, leaving the steading to Brynholf, and moved his body more than a week’s march to the south so as not to sour the land, taking his poisonous tongue with him. What would become of her now, a grown woman, with no husband and no brothers to secure her family’s lands? “Funny how _that_ excuse springs so readily to people’s lips. They like to forget the trade and wealth our ships bring.”

Fakse drew a line with her foot. “Your father disapproved of you, but I don’t. That is not what I was going to say. Bloodaxe will claim it is because I declined the marriage and he worried about the agreed heiman fylgia being paid. If we had done what he wanted, you would have married at Jule.”

“He lacked adequate coin for the retrieved goods from our last trip.”

“He’d traded for two bundles of ermine, but while the fools slept, Bloodaxe’s men switched the furs. The bundles would be a single layer of ermine on top but worthless rags underneath. Rumors abound where he is concerned. Sometimes honest, sometimes not.”

“He did not think they would inspect the bundles?”

“His men wrapped them in wool cloth. He would say he did that as a gesture of good will to protect the ermine. And down the road, I discovered his treachery, his wool sacks were light and I won’t pay good gold for less than the full measure. A man who will cheat on such things, will cheat on his bride’s mundr.” Fakse put her hands on Rey’s shoulders and looked down at her watering eyes. “We declined the marriage because Bloodaxe had difficulties with the mundr and morgen-gifu and Ljúfvina wanted to have your dress properly embroidered. Not because of anything we did wrong. The King knows the truth.”

Rey slammed her fists together. “I will not marry Bloodaxe or the next highest bidder seeking to support their claim to my parent’s title with or without your help… or die taking my revenge.”

Fakse pretended to fiddle with the fishing spear. “After I’ve forbidden it and made sure you’ve married well?”

Her charge’s face took on a stubborn look. “I’ll go away.”

“I won’t rescue you.”

Rey’s face fell. “Maybe this time I won’t need rescuing.”

A brief laughter escaped Fakse’s throat. “Rey! Think!” 

“I love you, Fakse. I can’t stand aside and let you marry me to someone like Bloodaxe Eymundsson. I have no wish to marry. And certainly not to someone who looks like he could crush me with one hand. I want someone cultured who loves learning and music and who would respect my intelligence. I’ve had enough of the brutes with my father.” Rey pushed the thought aside. Her feelings were unimportant. It was the estate which mattered. She cared for her friends among the staff. That was all this was. She loved Fakse, and cared deeply for the other workers she had come to know.

“They will not meet my eye and treat me like a bag of silver.”

“Do not worry about everyone else. Do not worry for our kingdom and do not worry for yourself.” Fakse pulled back to look at Rey. “Tomorrow evening will be the last time you have to deal with Bloodaxe. You have my word.”

Rey kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Fakse. I will do my best not to worry.”

Fakse chuckled. “Liar. You’re too much like your mother. You care too deeply, even about things you have no control over.” She paused and brushed the hair from Rey’s face. “But then I would rather you care too much than too little.”

Rey mentally said goodbye to a quiet few weeks fishing and planning how to be put in charge of a felag.

“If it means that much to you then we will see if any sad-eyed, raven-haired princes need rescuing. And if the lord wishes to be married to Reynhildur God’s-Eye, we leave her there and walk away. Agreed?”

Instantly, Rey’s face became wreathed in smiles. “I knew you’d do it, I told Ljúfvina you’d help.”

“And, Rey, this is the last time…”

She didn’t want to remember Fakse lying lifeless on the forest floor. She wanted to remember her as the vivacious, feisty woman who had constantly driven Rey crazy from the moment she swaddled her when she came screaming into the world. Rey’s entire life, Fakse had never stopped driving her crazy… until she took an arrow the night of the attack, an arrow meant for Rey when her back had been turned and which would have certainly ended her life. Swiftly Rey leapt from it. A cry of fury went up among their men. Pain like fire tore into Fakse’s shoulder where the arrow struck and she dropped her shield to the ground, leaving her silent and motionless. Rey chose not to remember that. Instead, she remembered Fakse with fire in her eyes and her lips held tight with defiance. She remembered her this way because when she saw her again — and she would see her again — it would be the face she’d be wearing. And Rey could not wait to see it.

She never had anyone to talk to about these things before, but she always used to wish she had an older woman to talk to. She was grateful for the Queen, hoping she knew how much she meant to her.

She never told anyone, but she felt so much guilt knowing she was the reason why Fakse wasn’t here. _If it wasn’t for me, she’d be here, dancing, drinking, jesting, swearing, spitting and hunting._ It was one of the things they loved to do together. _She’d be happy. Is she happy now, wherever she is? Was her sacrifice actually worth not being here to watch me grow into a woman?_

Those questions were something she battled with every day.

A dull ache yawned in her stomach. Memories of gentler times threaded her mind. Fakse’s smile on a cold day. A kind touch and laughter shared. Those images frayed the way of old cloth, the cost of seasons passing. 

_I need you to understand something. You simply cannot be gone. I won’t allow it. I will drag you back from the other side and force you to be with me. You are my sister, my best friend, my confidant, and I don’t want to do this life without you in it. Please don’t make me._

She blinked thrice, wetness prickling her eyes. Dust must have caught on her lashes. Maybe that’s why she loved it here so much. This place reminded her of the Húsavík pasture and woodland. Usually Rey had thought of it as a place of peace and solitude, but now those quiet glades held menace. She found out about this place from Apailana, and now that she knew about it, she planned to never leave. She couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t have this place as an escape.

 _If it were ever taken from me, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d fight tooth and nail, say things a lady shouldn’t ever say, and fight my way back to it._ Her dream was to build a haven for lost women and children right by the river, so her escape from reality could become their reality, too. It wouldn’t happen for a while, but once her mind was set on something, she would make it happen.

The trout spun round and started back towards her, making its final bid for freedom. Rey balanced on her toes, waiting for that precise heartbeat when her spear would be more effective. 

A twig snapped in the distance along with the rustling of leaves. It was the distinct sound of a shrieking termagant coming. “Rey! Are you here? Ouch. Damn you, branches.” Apailana’s voice resounded about the pond at the very instant she was about to thrust the spear. The spear fell harmlessly into the pond and the fish flashed away.

“This had better be good, Apples,” Rey called back, retrieving the spear and vowing the next time the old trout would not get away so lightly. “You’ve cost me a fish supper.”

Rey peered into the water, trying to spot the trout again. 

“Rey. Is that all you can think about — fishing? The very life of my bumbubúi is in danger here.”

Rey rested her elbow on top of the spear and stifled a laugh. Gods save her from Apailana. She was never one to go outside if she could help it. She was not one to love the woods like Rey did. Her manner befitted a spoiled princess of an eastern court, not a craftswoman who disliked getting dirty. _I should save her the trip of venturing farther into the woods, but I love witnessing her effort._

“Oh, goddesses! Silly little tree root. You’re in my way!” she scolded the tree. It had been there way longer than she had, so she was a little out of place. “I could have broken my neck, you know,” she complained. “Rey! I know you are out here. You always do this to me.”

“I’ll forgive you supper, but stop panicking.”

Rey came out from the drooping arms of the large weeping willow and held her stomach, full-on laughing when she saw her. She had leaves in her hair and scratches on her arms, and the hem of her dress was covered in dirt. 

“Apailana, don’t you know how to hold your dress up when you’re walking through the forest? And how did you get leaves in your hair?”

“I fell. I slipped on a rock and went straight into a pile of leaves. I risk my life every time I come out here to find you.”

“As much as I appreciate it” — She plucked a few leaves from her hair — “I don’t ask you to come looking for me. You have no one to blame but yourself,” she chided, pulling a small twig from the tangled strands.

“A fair point—”

“That’s all I’m saying…” She detected a slight movement in the water. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a bone to pick with this trout.”

“Rey, look at me instead of dismissing me. Please.”

Rey turned around and winced at Apailana’s tragic expression. Thankfully her father was no longer there to mock. She had a wedding to plan and a kingdom to save. She hadn’t time to suffer fools.

“Apples, what’s wrong?” she asked in a far gentler tone. There was little point in rehearsing her old arguments for another round with Kylo. Apailana had made up her mind and her stubborn streak rivaled her own.

“What new demand has Kylo made? Whatever it is, I’ll deliver it. You know me and my ways. I always hate being disturbed when I’m fishing.”

“True, but who else would tell you that your betrothed has been looking for you for the entire afternoon? He isn’t the type of man you keep waiting.”

Rey rolled her eyes as she thought about Kylo shouting down the halls for her like a madman. She should have known he would not let her sulk in peace. When Rey had become the captain of the guard she was the bane of Princess Astrid’s existence. Most of her life, she’d been assigned to protect the King’s daughters and she took her task very seriously. Not only did she prevail in her duty, she must have sucked the fun out of everything until life was simply a shriveled-up husk. Now a princess herself, Rey understood. “He can wait. I wait for him all the time. He can give me a few hours of peace.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Rey.”

“Well, maybe it should. What does he want anyway?”

“I don’t know. My own husband came home, stomping his boots on the floor about how you shall be the reason he gets beheaded. He can never find you.”

“I’m not the type to be found,” Rey declared, with her chin up and back straight. “If I want to be, I shall be. A woman deserves some peace every now and then.”

The ebon-haired woman sighed, looping her arm through Rey’s as they made their way out of the woods and back to the settlement. This close, Rey scented peppery warmth on her skin, the aroma as inviting as it was foreign. “I don’t disagree with you. I think the Prince is just worried about you. You just run off. You never tell him where you are going.”

“I do that for a reason, Apailana.” It was the same conversation they had every time she came out here and found Rey. _I’ll never tell Kylo about the spot I come to to reflect. He will ruin it for me and probably use it against me somehow, like by declaring I that I can’t return here without his salt-karls._

_Marriage. Ugh._

Love was all well in the stories of high romance: real life wasn’t like that. She had no expectations. Kylo had been right. It was an advantageous match. Marriage was a logical solution, even if she hated the thought of being married. But she could never forget the estate and its inhabitants. They were her people now. Every single one of them. Perhaps, with time, she might come to love Kylo. Certainly she would make him a dutiful wife and bear his heirs. Her mind glossed over the details, unwilling to dwell on the matter. Should she be so nice when, every day, girls of thirteen or fourteen were married off to men thrice their age? 

“I know, I know. I just want to be careful. Kylo cares about you, but he can be extreme sometimes.”

They broke through the trees. A mile ahead laid the longhouse, standing tall on top of the hill. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, kissing Apailana’s cheek.

She tossed her head back and laughed, her ebon curls flowing in the breeze and her sultry dark eyes becoming brighter in the sunlight.

“You’d probably run away.” Apailana raised her hand, pushing a few loose strands of silky hair behind her ear. Her fine accent was feather-soft and intriguing. “The prospect of which would bring fire to the belly of many Danes.”

“You’re probably right.” Rey giggled at the scene of madness she created in her head. “My betrothed would probably get all the guards and go on a search party with torches, accidentally burning the hall as a result of his brief moment of madness. He’d blame the guards, but it’d be entirely his fault. I can see him lightning a curtain on fire and not remembering that he’d done it.”

 _I really shouldn’t find it so entertaining that Kylo would lose his mind over me running away._ A part of her wondered if he would look for her out of love, or would it be to prove he still had reins on her?

_I will never run away. No matter how headstrong I am, I have feelings for him. Freya, help me, but I do. I do._

Even if the idea of it was sort of hilarious.

“You’re wicked!” Apailana gasped, nudging Rey’s side with her elbow. “It was so boring before you got here.”

They laughed in unison, strolling up the stone drive that led to the longhouse, only to be greeted by Ketill and Sigurd, the húskarls who stood watching at the gate. They crossed their spears in front of the girls, making a dangerous looking X. Their laughter died down when they saw the mischievous smiles on the guardsmen’s faces.

“Ketill. Sigurd. Please let us through,” Rey ordered as nicely as possible through clenched teeth. The next time she asked, she wouldn’t be as polite.

“How many of us have you killed, Princess Dane-Slayer? Twenty, thirty, forty?”

“Only the ones who have tried to kill me. Which that count is soon about to rise.”

“I don’t know, Princess Dane-Slayer. The Warlord has been running us ragged looking for you, and now you just want to enter like we didn’t spend the afternoon getting our asses handed to us by your husband,” Ketill said. The metal of his spear grinding against Sigurd’s made bumps appear all over Rey’s body. She hated that sound.

“He’s not my husband. Not yet. And whatever happens to your ass is none of my concern. Move. Your. Weapons.”

“Or what, Princess Dane-Slayer?”

She narrowed her eyes at Ketill and took a step forward. Apailana’s hand grabbed onto hers, and she looked at Rey, seeing her shake her head. Apailana’s eyes pleaded with Rey to stop, but Rey could never just stop. She refused to let them walk all over her. “Or I shall shove your spear so far up your—”

“Rey! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Kylo’s rich voice thundered through the hall as he exited Apailana’s home in a huff, with an angry-looking second-in-command.

Apailana’s Poe. The Hersir.

He pointed at her and beckoned her to him with his finger.

“I’ll see you around, Rey,” Apailana muttered as she pushed her way through the guards.

Her husband was a lot more understanding than Rey’s. She knew he was putting on a good show for the men, but once Apailana got inside and closed the door, he would just hug her and say how glad he was for her to be home. 

“Kveðja, Apailana.” Rey watched as her best friend disappeared through her front door, leaving her with a scowling betrothed and two guards that didn’t know their heads from their asses. 

This was the language that got her in trouble. And that was why she always got spanked. As if that would give her the mouth of a lady. Absurd, really.

“Ketill. Sigurd. Let her through.” Kylo moved his hands with the order, and they stood straight. The spears came to their sides, and they looked straight ahead as if they weren’t completely rude to her just minutes ago.

“She may be the Warlord’s curse to bear, but it affects us all,” muttered Sigurd.

“I think she may have got herself inside his head. He should kill her and be done with it.”

“Gamla lombungr, sugandi toti tik madr!” She marched between them, keeping her chin up and shoulders back, not giving them another look.

“Sending me on a wild goose chase isn’t very becoming of you, Rey.”

“I never expected you to chase me, Kylo. I just went for a walk. Nothing more,” she sighed, tired of being kept. She felt the urge to run and be free from all this. Away from his clutches and the expectations that she’d never be able to meet.

But this was her life, and she didn’t see it changing anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Jörmungandr — the Midgard Serpent who will trigger Ragnarök, the end of the world in Norse mythology. The snake was the ancient symbol of life and female fertility in Norse culture, as well as protection, power, connection to magic and shapeshifting. Only later with the invention of Christianity did the serpent gain a negative meaning. It’s possible that if Norsewomen were tattooed in the Viking age most likely they would have snakes drawn on their bodies. The [Snake Witch](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snake-witch_stone) refers to a picture stone found in Gotland, Sweden.
> 
> Morgen-gifu — “morning gift.” As the name implies, a gift given to the bride by the bridegroom the morning after the union is consummated. To learn more about Viking weddings, go [here](https://www.ukessays.com/essays/english-literature/studying-a-viking-wedding-approach-english-literature-essay.php).
> 
> Bumbubúi — “belly dweller” (used for an unborn baby).
> 
> Salt-karl — an Old Norse insult similar to “skit-karl.” The context is basically something to “You’re so inept that all you can do is make salt.” It was a low job given mostly to slaves. Also Norsemen thought that working for your money, when you could fight for it instead, was not only cowardly, but also as lazy as you could possibly get. Working for your money was only the last resort, when there was no opportunity to fight for it.
> 
> Kveðja — “best wishes.”
> 
> Gamla lombungr, sugandi toti tik madr — “Thou art morons, sucking at the teat of your bitch dog mother.”


	12. The Voyage to Birka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally double its size (and still growing!) so I had to split it. It’s been a challenge for me lately, but I refuse to give my readers less than quality content. You deserve better. If you guys still want this story — I mean continuing with regular- _ish_ updates until we finish it — definitely destroy that kudos button! It’d be crazy to see it do well and surpass my last work, but it’s kind of out of my hands once I hit publish. It’s all up to you guys. That’s the one thing about doing this that has been a fun experience — and a much needed distraction. I love you guys 💋 Best readers ever! Skål!
> 
> ⚔️Need some mood music? Here is the incredible [soundtrack](https://youtu.be/fR6e3nWgcvE) from _Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla._
> 
> ⚔️Eivør Pálsdóttir, known professionally as [Eivør](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCW-iALumPvDP4y4Lg4jmwtA), is a Nordic folk singer-songwriter from Syðrugøta, Faroe Islands. Many of her songs are in Faroese, some are in Icelandic, Norwegian, Danish and Swedish, and the most recent are in English. Her musical roots are in the Faroese ballads. She’s also done the score for one of my favorite Netflix shows, _The Last Kingdom_ , and the video game _God of War._

One afternoon in the midst of the long Danish summer the noonday dinner was over. The servants had cleared away the dishes; they had passed ropes through rings fastened to the table and had drawn the tables themselves high up on the walls out of the way. The skald had finished his daily story. Kylo and Rey began to play tafl on a silver taflboard with silver taflmen. Near them stood a serving-man to call each move as it was made. 

“I’m tired of watching the Lord and Lady play tafl. Let’s have the toga hönk game,” said Arta to Thorkel. 

“Alright. I’ll go to the storehouse and get a walrus-hide to pull,” said Thorkel. 

He threw a woolen cloak about him and stepped into the entry and then out of the doors. Late-afternoon light shimmered the treetops and scrub on the valley floor. At night moonlight and starlight shining down on the stony fangs gave light enough to see distinctly. The land grew still more mysterious, more magical, further along Klintekongen, the King’s mountain. Dragonflies darted about like pixies. Huge carvings of Klintekongen appeared in the rocks along the banks. The skeletons of ancient sea monsters hung from the rafters of sacred huts.

“ _Whew_ , but it is warm!” said Thorkel to himself, breaking into a run. 

“Here’s the skin!” he shouted a few minutes later, throwing the walrus-hide down on the floor.

“I’ll slip when I pull it if I don’t get the mud off these shoes,” he added, stamping and rubbing his oxhide shoes against the edge of the bench.

“If you take off your outer shirts you can pull better,” suggested one of the men. Off came the heavy woolen shirts.

“Come down here,” said Thorkel, going to one end of the hall. “The fire is not blazing very high here and it will not burn the skin.”

So Thorkel took his place on one side of the fire and Arta on the other. Each held tightly to an edge of the hide. Suddenly they both began to pull.

“They are evenly matched,” said Kylo, looking up from his tafl.

Indeed, they were evenly matched. They tugged and tugged and tugged. Sometimes one of the men would say, “You pulled Arta a little way that time, Thorkel.” But the next minute he would have to say, “But Arta pulled you this time, Thorkel.” 

Neither could pull the other over the fire, which was their object. At last they each gave a tremendous pull, and the next moment Thorkel was lying on one side of the fire with one piece of the skin in his hands, and on the other side lay Arta tightly clutching the rest of it. A shout of laughter came from all the men who were watching. 

“They broke the skin! They broke the skin!” they shouted.

The two men got up, rubbing their heads and laughing.

Kylo looked up again at the noise. “Go and get an oxhide for them to pull. They will not pull that into pieces,” he said.

Soon one of the men came back with a large, heavy oxhide halyard and the men began again. Again they tugged and tugged, but Arta was beginning to get tired. Thorkel saw this and gave an extra strong, sharp tug. Arta lost his foothold and began to slide. Slowly he went at first, then suddenly his foot slipped out from under him, and before he could stop himself he had slipped through the fire, scattering blazing sticks in every direction. The men nearby jumped to get out of the way of the brands.

“You won fairly,” the shorter man said to Thorkel.

At this moment came a loud knock at the door; when it was opened, there stood twenty men. “Come and play knattleikr,” one of them cried. “The ground is tarred and sanded.”

“Why, it’s Jarl Arnmundur and the men from his father’s farm!” said Arta, looking out.

“Ja, we swam down the fjord,” said Arnmundur, the god-cursed jarl who had spoken first.

“Come in and get warm,” said Kylo, going to the door. 

The men all filed in. Kylo went to Rey and said, “This is not a good time for tafl. Put the board away until evening.”

“We brought the knottr and knatttré with us,” said Arnmundur.

It was now late in the afternoon, and soon everybody trooped down to the fjord. Even the women, who were not going to play, wrapped themselves up warmly in furs and went along to watch the game.

“I don’t like the way those warriors watch us,” said Lady Hooknose.

“I find it flattering,” one of the women said.

“You think one will marry you and carry you off to the capital?”

“Would he?”

“He would take his pleasure and move on, you moon-eyed magpie. Leaving you with a little warrior to raise by yourself.”

“Let Poe play against Arnmundur,” said Kylo. 

The twenty men from Arnmundur’s farm went over and stood near Poe. Kylo sent twenty men from his own farm to stand on Arnmundur’s side.

“Be careful, you ladies,” called Arnmundur. “Our balls are very hard. They will hurt if they hit you.” 

“Ah, Arnmundur… the only mouth in Midgard from which I fear mockery.” Kylo was unimpressed with Arnmundur’s attempt at a quick flyting. “How long have you been chasing me, Arnmundur Brondolfsson? Seventeen summers? Eighteen? Do I now haunt your dreams? Do I warm your loins?”

“Your grandfather’s pride. Words of a coward, a scorn-snake! Ah, few things would please me more than to kill with this bat. But I know you would fight me to the death, fighting for a glorious victory. That I will not allow. Haha!”

And indeed the balls were hard, for they were made of wood.

“Ready!” called Arnmunder. He gave the ball a toss and then hit it with the bat. Poe ran to catch it. Arnmundur’s men all ran toward Poe, trying to keep him from getting the ball, but he was too quick for them and batted it back before they reached him. Now Arnmundur ran for the ball with all of Kylo’s men after him. One man caught him, but was thrown off. This delayed Arnmundur a movement, though, and before he could get in place to hit the ball three more of Kylo’s men had thrust him aside. He leaped over their heads and hit the ball just before it touched the ground. This time Poe could not reach it, for it fell among a crowd of Arnmundur’s men. One of them promptly batted it off the field toward the orchids at the edge. 

“Now find it if you can!” they shouted.

Poe rushed off in the direction he had seen the ball fly. He thought he should have a long hunt for it, because one cannot see lost things plainly in moonlight and starlight. Just as he reached the edge of the orchids the Northern Lights burst out and all was plain as at midday. 

“There is where the ball went,” thought Poe to himself, seeing a hole in the shrub not far off. 

He plunged his hand down into the orchids, and, sure enough, he found the ball. He seized it, hurried back to the field, and gave it a hard bat away over to where Arnmundur was standing. Some of Kylo’s men saw, but they knew Arnmundur did not see it coming, so they kept still. When at last Arnmundur realized that the ball was coming and would strike the ground in an instant, he rushed toward it. But it was too late; the ball hit the ground and rolled away from the field.

As Arnmundur went to hunt it his turn he said, “I did not think you could find it for a long time yet.”

“People must watch when they are playing ball-games,” said Kylo, laughing.

Rey had watched him participate at his ball-games staged during the day, his muscles flexing with exertion, as he swung his bat, the tiny rivulets of sweat running down his back. Every time an opponent swung at him, she had to surreptitiously rub her thighs lest anyone see. What a sight her man was as he usually practiced without a shirt when it was warm and she was bewildered by the play of each set of muscles as he used his bat. Every day she was aghast at herself at how she would feel as she stared at him. Her hands would sweat, her breasts would tighten, her thighs would tingle, and she would fantasize about him atop her in bed as his powerful frame would press intimately into her welcoming flesh. She would chastise herself and try to refocus instead of gathering dreams but deep down she knew it to no avail. He was a sight to behold and she couldn’t get enough. She was also proud when he beat his opponent, as usual, running, fighting, or wrestling.

So they played in the glow of the Northern Lights. When suppertime came, Kylo said, “Stay all night and play again tomorrow.”

“We should be glad to,” said Arnmundur. They had dogged them too long. Shamed them for too many seasons. “We are not very busy at home these days.”

~oOo~

After the ball-players had gone home Kylo said to the men, “I must put the Lady Rey to work for the rest of the summer. There is no doubt she has learned how to make weapons.”

“We spend much of our time in the blacksmith’s as it is; we will not object,” said Poe. 

“Come, we will go over there now and see what the smith is doing this morning,” said Kylo.

When they entered the smithy the smith had an iron plough on the stone anvil. He had just began to beat it into shape with a heavy hammer and did not hear them come in.

“Ring, ring, ring,” went the blows of the hammer on the glowing iron. 

“Snap, fly, scatter,” answered the shower of sparks. 

“ _Ouch!_ a spark struck my hand,” said Arta, who was nearest.

That iron grew too cold to work with and the smith turned to put it back into the fire again. As he did so he saw the visitors.

“Let me blow the bellows while you talk to the young master,” said Thorkel.

Thorkel seized the bellows, thrust it down into the ashes under the coals, and began to make it puff vigorously. So hard did he pump it that in a moment Arta said, “Stop, stop, Thorkel! The air is full of ashes and we are all coughing.”

“You work too hard,” said Kylo, laughing at Thorkel through a cloud of blue ashes. 

“Let the plough go for a moment. I shall show the Warlord some of the weapons I have been making,” said the smith to Thorkel. “Here is a sword I have just finished,” said he to Kylo.

“May I unwind the peace band to see the blade?” asked Arta. 

Kylo nodded. So Arta undid the strap that was wound about the blade of the sword from the point to the handle. 

“It has a sharp edge,” said Kylo.

“But there is no sword like the one you bought at Birka many summers ago, Lord,” said Arta.

“Ah, my ‘fire of battle,’ my ‘glow of war,’ my ‘fire of the sea kings’!” said Kylo, handling carefully his own precious sword, _Fenrir._ “No other has been so keen as you.”

“Where is the sheath for the sword?” asked Arta.

“The man who works in wood has been making it,” answered the smith.

In a few minutes he came back with a wooden sheath covered with skin.

“Come, Arta, see if you are tall enough to wear this,” said Kylo.

He swung the belt, holding the sword over Arta’s shoulder.

“The sword hangs a little too low,” said Arta.

“That is easily fixed,” answered Kylo. “I shall button the strap at the second button instead of the first.”

Then he stepped back and looked at Arta. “You are almost a man. You shall have that sword to wear at the end of this summer if you will learn to work well in iron these long days.”

“And can’t I have a sword too, Lord?” asked Thorkel.

“Next year, my drengr. You are less forged from softness than Arta, hammered on the anvil of war,” answered Kylo. “You might learn to make spears and have one of them to practice.”

“Oh! I can throw a spear already,” said Thorkel. He seized a spear which leaned against the wall nearby. The point was of iron. The handle was made of ash and it was about eleven feet long. A little towards the point from the middle a nail was driven into the wood. Thorkel ran his hand swiftly along the handle until it touched the nail. Then he knew that he was holding the spear so that it would balance in his hand. He drew the spear well back and then threw it upward with all of his might. It sailed up and out through the opening in the roof. 

“Why, what has become of that spear?” asked Arta a moment later. He had seen the spear in Thorkel’s hands, then he had given all of his attention to his sword and had not noticed Thorkel’s action.

“Something else besides smoke went out at the smoke opening,” answered Thorkel.

Thorkel ran outside; he brought back the weapon and said, “It struck on a stone outside and dulled the point.”

“Here is a whetstone,” said the smith. 

While Thorkel sharpened the spear with a whetstone the smith showed Kylo some battle-axes and arrowheads that he had been making.

“Let us now go to the man who works with the gold and silver,” said Kylo, walking through to another workshop.

“You are interested in weapons. The blacksmith yonder has been showing you how he can make them strong and sharp. Let me show you how I am making them beautiful,” said Thorstein, for that was the name of the gold and silver worker.

He held up a sword, and even Kylo exclaimed at the beauty of the hilt. The handle was of iron like the blade, but laid into the metal was a beautiful scroll tracery of gold. There were bright green stones set into the iron also.

“What are the green stones?” asked Arta.

Kylo answered, “Emeralds.”

Before they had finished admiring the sword, Thorstein brought out a battle-axe. It also had a pattern made from gold set into the iron, but there were no emeralds.

“Will not these costly weapons show both your friends and enemies what a rich and powerful man you are, O Wren?” asked Thorstein.

Kylo answered, “You have done well.”

“Where did Thorstein get the gold with which to make the patterns?” asked Thorstein.

“I gave him some Frankish and English and Arabic coins to melt down, coins I have brought home from trading voyages,” answered Kylo.

“Now,” said he, “show us what you can do when you try to make something not for use, but just for ornament.”

Thorstein turned to a table near them and picked up a round piece of very thin gold, about two inches across.

“See, this is ready to stamp. Here are some that are finished.”

“Here is the loop so we can hang them from our necks,” said Arta. These ornaments were worn as much as lockets were now.

“What is stamped on this? Oh! I see,” said Thorkel, who was looking closely at one of the pendants. “It is a warrior on horseback fighting a dragon.”

“And this one has a serpent on it,” said Arta.

“These are all new things I have here,” said Thorstein.

“Ja, we have at the house the chains and rings and brooches you have made. I am fortunate to have so skilled a worker. Now, just a look to see what the woodcarver is doing,” said Kylo, starting toward an adjoining room. 

Arta and Thorkel jumped in his way. “Nei, Lord, please don’t go in there,” said Thorkel.

“Why not?” asked Kylo, surprised.

“The Queen has the woodcarver working for a long time on something to surprise you, and she does not want you to see it till it is done,” said Thorkel.

“The carver thought he could finish it while you were away on your spring voyage, but it took too long,” said Arta.

Kylo laughed. “Very well,” he said. “I shall go back to the blacksmith and tell him I want him to teach you two to work in iron. You can go in to see the woodcarver alone.”

The two waited until Kylo had gone to see the smithy and then they opened the door and went into the carver’s workshop. The man was sitting on a stool by a bench, covering a wooden shield with skins.

“Where is it?” asked Thorkel.

“Is your lord coming here? I heard his voice, so I hid it,” said the carver.

“We told him he couldn’t,” said Arta, laughing.

“Then I’ll go on with it,” said the carver.

He went over to a corner and lifted some boards and skins. The men drew out a beautiful carved chair.

“See, I only have the dragon on this arm to finish. I think I can get it done today,” said the carver, taking up his tools. 

“Then we will put it in place before supper tonight,” said Arta. 

That evening just before supper Thorkel said to Kylo, “One of the herdsmen thinks a cow is sick and he wants you to come and look at her.”

Kylo rose and went with Thorkel. As soon as they had gone Arta rose too, and ran to the woodcarver’s workshop.

“Thorkel has him down at the barn now, so I have come to help you carry it to the hall,” he cried, bursting into the workshop.

Between them they lifted the heavy chair and carried it to the hall. Some of the servants had already moved Kylo’s old chair to the opposite side so that the new chair could be set at once in the place of honor. 

Soon Kylo and Thorkel came back. The Queen took Kylo by the hand and led him to his new high seat.

“So this is what those two were hiding from me this morning! It is a beautiful chair.”

Then, as he looked more closely at it, he seated the Queen by his side and said to her, “And the best of it is that it is wide enough, so that you and Father can sit by my side in it, which you could not do in the old one.”

Rey swung the blade a couple of times from side to side. She never beheld anything so ornate, with two emerald stones set into the gilded hilt. It lay smooth and balanced in her hand. It was a wonderful feeling. 

“What’s she called?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

“I shall call her _Snakebite._ ”

“That’s a good name,” Kylo smiled.

~oOo~

There were times in their lives that painful things happened. During these times, they realized that nothing could have prepared themselves for such pain. Their hearts were not prepared for it, their hugr could not grasp it, and their souls were left broken from it. Rey had felt such pain, but she realized brokenness was not the end. She realized that she could let the pain destroy her, or she could rise from the rubble that had become her heart and be all the stronger for it.

She had only been expecting a simple “yes.” The question certainly was simple enough. She just needed to know that she would not be facing Kylo alone. She needed to know that _Apailana_ would be the one to keep her safe from betraying her own bidding. But he had said so much more than yes. The words were beautiful, but something in her gut told her that they were more significant than she realized. The words were far more simple than a statement. They felt like a covenant. Whatever the words had meant to him, for Rey they were the Northern Lights. They were a beacon of hope. Maybe he realized she needed something hopeful to stand on because she felt so uncertain about her future.

Some mornings later when the girls first went outdoors Rey said, “Look, the trading ship is in the water!”

“The men are carrying down furs and dried fish from the storehouse and bringing them into the ship. Kylo must be going on another voyage,” said Apailana. 

“Don’t you wish he would take us with them?” asked Rey.

“I’ll ask him. Maybe he will,” answered Apailana. 

She rushed down to the shore, where Kylo was telling the men what to do.

“Kylo! Kylo! Please take me and Rey with you,” she shouted.

“Ja, please!” begged Rey. 

“Rey has only heard tales of your conquests. Now she gets to live them.”

Kylo looked down thoughtfully at the two eager girls.

“We will weave our sagas together, skein upon skein. You have grown fast lately. I wouldn’t be surprised if both of you had the stomach to go. Ask my mother, lady.”

But before he finished the two girls were racing to the house.

“Mother Leidvar, can we go?” cried Rey as she came inside the door.

“Go where? What are you so excited about?” asked the Queen.

“Sailing with Kylo,” explained Apailana.

“On his trading voyage,” added Rey.

“Go and ask him. If he says you may, alright,” said the Queen.

“We did ask him! We are going,” sang the girls, jumping around the hall. “We’re going to—,” suddenly they stopped short. “I wonder where we are going? Let’s go ask Kylo,” said Rey.

“O, if he would only go to Frankia or Andalusia this time!” said Apailana.

“Or Langbarðaland, as he did last year!” said the Queen.

“Mother Leidvar said ja. When do we start, and where are we going, and what are we going to get?” asked Rey.

“One question at a time. We are going to the other side of Svea.” 

“That is not very far,” said Apailana. 

“That is just the reason we are going there. Summer is almost over and winter will soon be here. We could not go far and be back ere it is upon us,” said Kylo.

“We should not care if you did have to stay all winter, as you did in Langbarðaland last year,” said Apailana.

“Besides, the Svear make just about the same kind of things as we do. What is the good of going to the country?” asked Rey.

“Because in Birka, where we are going, we shall find traders from many lands off to the south and east. They will be all kinds of things there to trade and sell.”

“How do they come to Birka?” asked Apailana.

“How are we going to Birka?” asked Kylo.

“In a ship on the water, of course,” answered Apailana. 

“Why?” asked Kylo.

“Because that's the only way you can go. Just think of trying to carry things over all these mountains where there aren’t any roads!” said Apailana, pointing to the tall cliffs around them.

“Then look, and you will see why so many people from so many countries go to Birka to trade.” Kylo stooped and commenced to trace a map with his sword-tip in the sand.

“This is home. This is our own bay. This is the edge of the shore and all beyond is sea. These wavy lines are rivers. Here, and here, and here are the places where things are made that we want. Now why can we all meet at Birka?” 

“I see. Because traders can go almost all the way by water. See, Rey, what a tiny little distance between these two rivers,” said Apailana, pointing to the short space between the Don and the Volga.

“The men have worked while we have talked. Come, we must say goodbye and be off,” said Kylo.

In a few minutes they were really started. Away they went down the fjord and out to the open sea. The ship they were on this time had a no gilt dragon-head in front and no row of shields hung on the sides. It was a peaceful trading ship, and there was no need to go armed, for the old Danes would have thought it very wrong to wage war on a merchant vessel.

“Gods, I love being out on the open water,” cried Dag the Fat, as they sailed past the infinite land of primeval beauty, over its lakes, mountains and streams. “The chill, the mist, the rolling waves. It gives a feeling of freedom. And then, to look around and see the rising fjords and glinting snow, I think, by the gods, the world is a place of wonder!”

The country had a supernatural mystery. Beavers cracked their tails and slipped beneath the surface. Flights of wild ducks passed overhead. Were the boats to capsize, they would probably drown under the weight of their armor. Against an attack they would be defenseless. But Kylo felt himself being drawn on; he did not know quite why.

“See there, the vaulted shoulder bones of sad Ymir, the bobbing seas his blood, his brains the soaring clouds. Fashioned for stout warrior-folk by the All-Father and his kin. For all this, we must give thanks.”

Somewhere, dimly, he felt there was something waiting for him, something fine and unspeakable, infinitely more exalted than the prospect of fame and fortune that drew the other Vikings on.

“There you go again,” said Dag, “putting feelings into words that none here can match.”

“Try a verse yourself, Dag. Poems are not difficult if you give vent to your feelings.”

“Bah! I will feel my feelings as I always have. Within words between them and me.”

“I’m thirsty,” said Apailana.

“Over there at the foot of the mast is a tub with the lid on it. It is full of water. Go there to drink,” said Poe.

“And I am getting hungry. Who is the cook?” asked Apailana.

“First one man and then another. They draw a lot each morning to see who gets the meals for that day.”

When they sat down to their lunch of hard bread, butter, and dried meat, Apailana said, “I don’t think a cook on shipboard has much to do. The women at home got all these things ready to eat several days ago.”

The river-horses passed a Svear town. The people came down from their fields to raise up their peculiar shouts of greeting and offered goodly gifts and fair words as they worked their way up the river. Kylo and his men were made welcome and given good entertainment, and thereafter the chieftain made known his errand to him, saying that messengers had sent craving the son of a king’s help so that he might rid their village of the evil that plagued this land. 

By nighttime time they were far from home.

“Draw the ship up on the shore and get ready for the night,” said Kylo.

So the ship was pulled up on the beach just as it had been at home. Then the mast was taken down and laid across from side to side of the ship and sails stretched over all. “O! what a nice tent,” exclaimed Apailana.

Some of the men built a fire of driftwood that they found on the sand. Others put up tents on the beach so that there would be plenty of room for everybody.

“Where are we going to sleep?” asked Apailana of Poe.

“In the hammocks under the big tent on the ship,” answered Poe.

“We sleep in big fur bags on the ground,” said Rey.

Chickens flocked to a young girl tossing grain in the yard. The florid-faced chieftain exited his feast hall, talking to a wiry man armed with bow and arrows. The air smelled of wet earth and smoke from the torches freshly doused. Rosy-cheeked milkmaids shuffled into the barn, their buckets clanging.

“Morning, folk,” Kylo drawled.

The tittering maids passed him to attend braying goats. His side vision caught movement outside. Kylo watched as the barn boys imitated their Shieldmaiden playmate. Her freckled breasts browned by the sun had inflamed their young imaginations. Then he saw a party from Götaland under the leadership of Jarl Kveldulf, an adventurer like himself, had captured two Siþlings who ventured too closely to the fortress and brought them to the chieftain for interrogations. One of them a woman yclept Rain, sometimes Sassa. The other was a male. It was known that seiðr magic in these lands was the sole dominion of seers and other wise women. If any male, be he boy or man, was found guilty of this unmanly practice, he would face exile at the very least, and perhaps even death by the removal of those manly elements that yet remained.

“They can tell us what we can’t find out for ourselves,” said Kveldulf.

A council of town elders sat in the shade of a slung sail. Hogs foraged for scraps of food in the rutted lanes. The Siþlings stood next to the chieftain, a Norse hammer as long as his thigh tethered to his wrist.

“We are here by the will of the gods. Had we not sighted them sniffing around the outer walls, looking for an easy way to slip in a few dozen men inside, while hunting the deer and hare with bows and arrows when we did, we would have turned back. If there are two scouts, there will be more. A cloud hangs over us. We’ve eaten the best part of our stores. Our best men are sick with fever; the rest will soon breathe sorcery. We might as well be dead. Now this shadow brotherhood tells me of a city up north, and a mighty King who lives there. I propose we send an envoy to him, to see whether he can be persuaded to trade with us. Meanwhile, I will return to the West for fresh supplies. I will not be back until the spring. You will be utterly alone until then, but my leaving will free the men, when adversity strikes, of any temptation to return. Kveldulf here will be in command. As to who shall approach the Draugr King, I needn’t tell you that it will be a hazardous mission.”

A silence followed.

“The sentiment of the council is clear. Moreover, it conforms with my own. We are humbled by you, Lord Wren of the Skywalker Clan, son of the wise queen Leidvar, and the shieldmaiden Reynhildur, our honored guests. Your clear heads and your courage. We have not had enough of both in recent months. Be careful or be cursed.”

“What is this menace you speak of?” Hrungnir asked the chieftain. “What creature do we hunt?”

“Your prey is the most cunning of beasts, capable of vile deeds beyond the ability of any common animal.”

“We are hunting someone then,” deduced Hrungnir.

“A warlock. One who once called himself a man but since has befouled his hugr, his whole being, with twisted seiðr magic. The evil spider who squats in yonder hut poisoned my own sister. For that alone, it deserves to die.”

“Where did you find these two?” asked Rey.

“Just outside the north walls, by the water’s edge,” answered the chieftain.

“They’ll be looking for points of entry, to sneak a herd of raiders through,” thought Kylo aloud.

It was a waterfall she had heard where the warlock made his lair — just a small one, about as tall as two men, but the water rushed over the top with a force. She approached the bank downstream and prepared to wash her face and hands.

And then she noticed a shadow in the fall and realized that she was not alone. She brought her hand to the hilt of her sword and froze, and scanned the area for others.

But for the body in the waterfall, she seemed to be alone. Her hand still on her sword, she searched the area more closely and saw, on the bank just at the waterfall, soaking in the spray, the leather boots and sword of Kylo. 

A friend, then. Or at least an ally. Rey relaxed and moved down river again, leaving space for privacy. He was no threat to her.

As she washed, stretching out on the grass and pushing her face and then her head into the chill current, she took a long draught of fresh water. She could feel the fire leaching from her sinews, bringing her calm. A sharp ache reminded her that she had a moon. It was her only incident, and for that she counted herself fortunate. She had gone to Valhalla in the fit with herself.

She pulled back, throwing her head to clear the water from her face, and then sat up, cross-legged, setting her sword and shield at her side. 

“You bleed still.”

Rey jumped and grabbed her sword at the voice so near. Standing a few feet away and behind her was Kylo from under the frigid water. He was clean and dripping water, his head and beard entirely black with wet, and his leather breeches soaked. In one hand was the undyed wool of a rough tunic; in the other, his sword.

The Svear people were not small people, but to the children of the village, especially the milkmaids, he was nearly a giant. Ever tall and broad, muscles like boulders swelling in his arms, his chest, his neck, his shoulders. His beard was long, dark, and thick. His head shorn at the sides, leaving the top to grow long. It had been tightly braided earlier, but now it lay in a loose, wet hank down his back. The skin across his chest and over his shoulders was decorated with elaborate tattoos. He was led into a longhouse and made to sit down. They tugged him this way and that as if he were a conquering hero, stripped off his clothes, dangled their strands of bead around his neck, heaped fox pelts on his shoulders and thrust a crown of flowers on his head. Kylo had no idea what to make of all this. The cruel, anxious and humorless churl — one of the most unlikeable people ever known — before they were ready to flee from and now they treated him like their bosom friend. 

He glanced at her sword, gripping the hilt.

She dropped her hand from her sword and turned back to the river, expecting him to walk on.

He did not. Instead, he sat down at her side, rubbing her compassionately.

She was about to protest that her moon was not so bad, when blood dripped from her leg and landed on her foot. The river water had opened it again. He wiped the blood away and said nothing.

With a deep breath for calm, she remained still and let him soothe the muscles in her back.

A small fish jumped out of the current, flipped, and fell back. She had a thought she would go back to camp for a fishing spear.

“Fishing, uh? Looking for a warm puddle to dangle your worm in?”

“We can all take a moment to allow our blood to cool.”

“I have no fondness for fishing. Where is the sport in it? There is no chance the fish will kill me.”

“Here will be good. I’m going to fish for eel. The children would relish nettle soup cooked with fresh eels from the water.”

“I will not fish. You go ahead.” With that, Kylo stood, picked up his bundle and _Fenrir_ , and headed back to camp.

He had watched her these days since the two parties had become one at Skywalkerland. When they’d been gathered in Aki’s great hall, and then when they embarked in their longships, he’d kept her in his sights as much as he could.

It wasn’t difficult to do. She was always off on her own, along the edges of the group. The Queen had named her personally as she’d spoken her words to send them off in the good will of the gods, and Kylo had seen her drop her head at that. “May the winds favor your voyage.”

People no longer tried to ward her way, but no one made any attempt to speak directly to her, either. She was treated as an icon of reverence, someone too powerful to touch. She moved through and around those near her as if she were invisible, when the opposite was true. Everyone noticed her, but no one made eye contact with her if they could avoid it.

She rarely spoke. She never smiled.

No — once, he thought, she had. On the sea, on a bright day of good wind after a hard night of storms, their ships had regained proximity with each other and sailed nearly side by side. Kylo saw her at the prow, her arms around the carved dragon head, her hair blowing lose from its plaits. He thought he saw her smile then, turned away from all those she knew and facing the adventure ahead.

Whether she had truly smiled then or not, it was the first time he’d known he wanted more than merely the chance to possess her. He wanted the chance to know her. 

She had been cold to him at the bank of the stream, but he wasn’t deterred. He owed her his life. His master might have not killed him that day in the woods; he might only have rendered him mute. But he might have likely killed him in short time.

It was more than simply his breathing body he owed the shieldmaiden, however. He was a man of honor, a warrior with renown of his own, and he would not have been had not the courage of a small girl with strange eyes shaken him to his toes. 

His friend Poe sat at his side and handed him a horn of mead. As Kylo nodded his thanks and took a long draught, Poe elbowed him, grinning amiably.

“Your sorceress returns.”

Poe nodded toward the far edge of the camp, and Kylo turned and saw Rey walk in, past the spitted deer, and to a basket of leiv bread. She picked up two flat, round loaves and walked back the way she’d come, her full skin of water rocking at her hip, still dripping. She must have filled it at the stream. As always, people stepped out of her way, as if a force around her pushed them all two or three steps back.

Bread and water. While the air was redolent of roasting meat, and sweet mead flowed freely.

“Be careful, my friend,” Poe said at his ear as Kylo swiveled his head to watch Rey walk just out of camp and settle herself alone at the base of a tree. “She is beautiful, but many women are beautiful, and no other possess such a risk. Who knows how she might bewitch you. That is no mere shieldmaiden. That eye.” He shuddered. “If not the gift of Odin, then the judgment of Mímir. In any case, a man could be unmanned. I would not risk so much.”

Kylo thought her eyes lovely, not fearsome. Bestowed by the gods or not, it made her more beautiful to him. The eyes no one noticed were lovely, too: a green bright like Midgard nestled in the branches and roots of the world tree Yggdrasil.

She _was_ beautiful, with a long, graceful neck, high cheekbones, and full red lips. Her hair was long and wild. On the day they left Skywalkerland, the mass had been tidily trained in elaborate braids, but the ensuing days, with a rough sail and a tough moon, had loosened strands and left a halo of pale fire around her head. Darkness enshrouded the nearby villages. That was why the villagers thought they were omens of good fortune. The dark clouds called forth by some sinister force had lifted. When the sun shone behind her, she did seem to glow indeed.

Though she had been small when he’d first seen her, now she was tall and strong, the power of her body obvious in the snug confines of her boiled leather breeches and tunic. She carried herself straight as a sword. She was magnificent.

Poe and the brothers had gibed at him relentlessly since they first stood in Kveldulf’s hall and Kylo had laid eyes on Rey. He supposed he hadn’t been subtle, drawn as he was to keeping her in sight, even as others looked away.

“Then I am more man than you,” he said with a grin and stood, taking Poe’s horn from him. Ignoring the protest of his friend, Kylo went and refilled both horns and then carried them through the camp to the tree where Rey sat. 

As he approached, she looked up and glared at him with her bewitching eyes.

“Water is a paltry quench for a patrol like today’s.” He crouched before her and held out a horn.

She didn’t take it. “You need not serve me,” she said, her hands in her lap.

Still holding out the horn of mead, he sat. “I’m not. I would like to join you.”

She frowned. “Why? What is it you want?”

“Only your company. Need you no friend, Rey God’s-Eye?”

“Nei.”

Kylo disbelieved that strenuously. Perhaps no one in the worlds needed a friend so much as this girl sitting here. Having experience with that feeling himself, he smiled. “Well, I do. Drink with me.”

Though she still glared, she finally took the horn, casting a suspicious grimace into its content before taking an experimental sip. As if he might have poisoned the mead.

After a moment’s quiet, she said, “If you seek a boon—”

“I do not. Except, as I said, your company. Perhaps some conversation.”

At that, she stared, her suspicion replaced by something that looked like alarm. 

She took a deep breath and then nodded at Kylo. She kept her eyes on the ground, unable to look at the man who had stripped her of her dignity. But of course, he wasn’t about to let her protect herself. 

She felt his fingers under her chin, and she had to rein back that prickly feeling that was threatening to make an appearance again. _Completely ridiculous!_ As he put pressure on her chin to raise her face, she bit the inside of her lip in order to keep herself from whimpering. She would not be the fool anymore because of this man before her. He was not worthy of her company. But when her eyes finally met his, her resolve crumbled. If it was even possible, Kylo looked more eager and lustful as his eyes roved over her body. 

She felt as if she needed another wash in the stream, scrubbing herself with lye soap after his eyes perused her. He was no doubt removing every piece of clothing as he stared. The anger invoked by that thought kept the tears at bay. She was simply a broodmare to him. He did not want her for any other reason than to look pretty and bear his pups. She would not cry, no matter how it hurt her soul.

“How are you feeling, my love?” Kylo asked. His voice was dangerously silky. He leaned closer and took a deep breath. “You smell divine. You must no longer be ill.”

“I am better. Though I’m still tired.”

“I have missed you.” His hand dropped from her face and grabbed her hand. He wrapped it in the crease of his elbow and began to lead her away from the camp. “Instead of spending time with my lovely, tasty bride, I’ve had to endure boring talks with the lovsigemand concerning your heiman fylgia and the protection of our kingdom. He is all but convinced our union will bring us misery, ‘and the people will know it. It will create a crack in Skywalkerland that will not serve it well’.”

“I apologize, my lord. I’m sure that must have been quite unpleasant.” No matter how unpleasant he thought his time with old man Whitebeard had been, she knew it would be nothing compared to the time she was about to spend with him. Her skin was burning, and her heart was threatening to climb out of her throat. His touch alone was enough to want to dunk herself in a lake of ice.

“I would like to take you on a ride today,” he said. “And I wish you to ride with me.”

It was the ‘ride with me’ comment that snapped her attention to how close their bodies were. Riding with him on the same mount would mean being even closer. She was not sure she could tolerate being closer. 

“Forgive me, Lord,” Apailana said. “But propriety demands that the princess ride her own horse.”

Rey started to let out a sigh of relief, but it was cut short when Kylo answered.

“ _I_ demand that she ride with me,” he snapped. “And you are to hold your tunga, or I will cut it out.”

Rey didn’t miss the way Poe put a firm grip on Apailana’s shoulder once Kylo had turned away. He whispered something to his wife, and she could see the battle raging in Apailana’s eyes. She looked at Rey, and she tried to give her a reassuring smile that she was fine. The short shake of her hair told me that she wasn’t buying her false bravado.

Once they were at the stables, Rey did not bother arguing when Kylo demanded one horse for the pair of them. There was no point. She would simply make sure to ride behind him. If she was behind him, he couldn’t get his clever hands on her. 

Rey walked over to the saddled warhorses from the ship taken to a sprawling oak tree and found one of the younger mares yclept Baby. She was a beautiful red with a whiter than white mane. She shook her head at Rey and whinnied.

“Sorry, girl,” Rey whispered as she ran a hand down the front of her face. “I cannot take you this time.” Rey waved over her shoulder to where Kylo was arguing with Poe, and his fealty, about which horse would be best suited for two riders. “Unfortunately, he is in charge.”

Baby snorted. 

Rey smiled and laughed. “I know, I’m not impressed either. But he is trying.” She nodded her head as if she understood Rey’s words, and then nudged her face with her soft nose. With one pat and a kiss on her nose, Rey turned back to face Kylo and the others.

She felt eyes on her as she watched Kylo complain about the fact that his own mean and ornery horse couldn’t be used. When she turned her head slightly to the right, she saw Einar the Pretty. His intense gaze was burning over Rey, and she felt herself bridle. She shook her head at him as if to tell him to stop. His lips turned up in a smirk, and he shook his head back at her. He wasn’t about to do what she told him. Stupid man, she mentally growled.

“Rey,” Kylo’s voice bit out.

She turned back to him. “Hmm?”

“We will be riding this beast. Come here, and I’ll help you mount. I can ride behind you.”

“I would prefer to ride in the back, my lord,” Rey said in a voice that she hoped sounded docile and unchallenging. “I’ve not ridden with another rider before. I would feel more comfortable this way.”

His jaw clenched as though he were trying his very hardest not to growl at her. He stared at her for a long time, and she got the impression he was waging some sort of internal battle. Kylo must have seen the determination and her eyes because he finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll mount first and help pull you up behind me.”

He climbed up onto the large horse and then moved his foot from the stirrup so that she could put her foot in it. She bit back a gasp when she felt a hand on her waist and another grasp the back of her thigh.

“It is not necessary for you to help her, Einar.” Kylo leaned down to grab her arm and would have jerked it out of socket had not Einar been there helping boost her up. Einar was not so easily goaded. If anything, his enjoyment grew. 

“I have to disagree, you raven shit,” answered Apailana. “And since Lady Rey is my charge and responsibility by the Queen’s order, it is my duty to make sure she is safe at all possible times, which includes implementing her guards. So there!”

Rey couldn’t see Kylo’s face as she sat down behind him on the horse, but she could feel his trembling form. The rage in him was going to erupt like a volcano, and the gods save anyone who was near him when that happened. She just hoped she was far away when it finally did. Though if Einar the Pretty kept poking the beast, there would be immediate collateral damage when the explosion came.

“I’m eager to get started,” Rey said, trying to break the tension. “Shall we go?”

She could see Hooknose and Jackdaw clambering onto their own horses, and Rey tried not to laugh when they both had to scurry to mount to keep up with Kylo, who had suddenly pushed the horse forward into a fast trot. 

As he picked up speed, Rey turned her face up to the sun and closed her eyes. She wanted to forget who she was and simply enjoy the fresh air. It seemed Kylo’s presence was casting a pall over the whole of nature, Rey could still feel the foreign countryside singing out to her. The trees were clapping in their leaves, and the grass was swaying to the music of the birds. The sun shone down on it all as if it were giving light to a magnificent performance. How she wished she could be a part of it.

Her hair began to fall from the braid into which Apailana had placed it. She loved feeling it fall down her back while the wind flowed through it. It was the best she had felt in several days, but it all came to a screeching halt when she felt Kylo’s hand on her thigh. 

He squeezed, and squeezed and she knew he must be leaving a bruise. He was marking his territory again, as if he hadn’t already done that enough. Gods, he was spraying like a horny pup! The bastard, she growled in her mind and mentally kicked him. Oh, how she would love to kick him for real. She imagined it would give her great satisfaction, but the consequences would likely be unpleasant.

He tilted his head so she would be able to hear him as he spoke. 

“Won’t be long now before we wed,” he told her, though it sounded more like a warning. “You will be all mine, and there will be no one between us.”

She didn’t say anything. How was she supposed to respond to such words? It wasn’t like a man telling the woman he loved that he was excited about being alone with her. It was more like a butcher telling his prized hog that soon enough the crowds would no longer be watching, and he would be able to cut the poor beast apart. _Think pleasant thoughts, Rey,_ she chastised herself. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find the resolve to remain positive.

They rode even faster and, after at least an hour, he stopped at a stream. Hooknose and Jackdaw were less than a minute behind. They all dismounted and set their horses to graze.

“Stand watch over there,” Kylo told them. “The princess and I have affairs of state to discuss.”

He took Rey’s hands and pulled her away from them, drawing her closer to the stream. For a fleeting second, she entertained the thought that he might be about to drown her. A few weeks ago, she might not have minded if it meant she didn’t have to spend her life with him, but now there was the Queen. The escape of dying no longer held the appeal it once had. 

“We need to discuss your transition to my kingdom,” he began. He turned her so that his back was to the men, and Rey could not see past his broad shoulders. “You do not need to bring your woman, or any of your help for that matter.”

“What?” This got her attention fully. “But why wouldn’t I bring my lady, laden with the unborn child, and to whom you owe an apology?”

“Because a Lord of War is _feared!_ ”

“You are wounded?”

“Nei. ‘Tis merely a legacy of your brave friend Apples.”

She ignored the gibe. “A disadvantage indeed, for now you are no longer the loathsome scourge with a storm following the little wren.”

“It is shameful. And it is growing more dire by the hour with the disrespect of servants. There is no need to bring in more of my mother’s influence into our home.”

She considered making a comment about his inability to tolerate an additional single servant when they hadn’t even a place to hang their helmets but decided she would simply be asking for a fight. She didn’t want to provoke him when they were so far away from any intermediaries.

“And you will not need to bring any of your things.”

“What?” she interrupted. “Forgive me, but it sounds like you want me to just leave every part of my life behind… again. Am I to accompany you home with no clothes on as well?” So much for not provoking him.

His brow rose, and his eyes sparkled with wicked intent. “A naked bride in my carriage. I am sure that can be arranged and would be most enjoyed.”

Her heart nearly stopped. _Skål, Rey,_ she scolded herself. Bringing up the absence of clothing around Kylo was as stupid as waving a piece of raw meat in front of a starving shark, and just as dangerous. 

“I do not understand why you wouldn’t want me to take some of my own things. It would make me feel less homesick,” she argued. When he simply stared at her, she realized what a lombungr she was being. She wasn’t going away with him. None of what he wanted mattered. So why was she intent on quarreling with him like she did?

“I think a fresh start will do you good. You are going to be my queen. I want you to have the hugr of a queen, the manners and look of a queen, a regal woman — not a girl.” He glanced down at her body and then back up to her face. “I know there is a powerful woman underneath that fabric, and I want you to look the part.”

She screwed her face up into one of disgust. “Why do you desire me to wear such revealing clothing? Does it not bother you that other men may stare?”

He glanced over his shoulder at Hooknose and Jackdaw as though she somehow meant those two. “I won’t have to worry about that. The men in my kingdom know I would scoop their eyes out with a spoon and feed them to the crows if they so much as glance at you.”

She gulped down the tears that rose in her mouth. That was a bit disturbing… and most thrilling.

Letting his hand drop a little, he touched the top of her neckline. Rey instinctively took a step back. The widening grin was a slash of white against black whiskers as if he knew what her body would do and wasn’t disappointed.

“Soon, you will beg me to touch you, lady.”

“That I never will. I have no time for feminine vapors.”

“You say so now — you have yet to share my bed. May I say I look forward to it?”

Hot color flooded her face and neck, but before she could reply he said, “You could just do as you’re told, Valkyrja, and your life would be much easier with me. But if you want to behold someone’s true character, you have to test it in battle. Now.” He paused and then stepped closer to her. “I haven’t seen or touched you in a few days, and I will refrain no longer.” 

Before she could stop him, he’d wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against his body. His other hand ran up her back until it was at the nape of her neck, his thumb and fingers beneath her ears. She tried so hard not to think of Hooknose and Jackdaw so close by and imagined they were alone as Kylo’s hands held her. 

Kylo tilted her head back and made her look up at him. After simply staring at her for a little while, half-conquered, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. It was surprisingly gentle. She gasped as his full lips caressed her own, coaxing her to respond. When his tongue slipped out and licked hers like velvet, she gasped again, and he took advantage by slipping his tongue into her open mouth. His soft groan was surprising as was Rey’s own reaction. 

She didn’t want to enjoy what she was doing — and she certainly _didn’t!_ — just because of who was performing the actions. But she could not deny what he was doing was very, very different from the way he had kissed her previously. This time it was as though he were savoring her. He pulled her closer, and his hard body molded her softer one to him.

She was lost. She didn’t understand what was happening or why she was allowing it, but she couldn’t stop him from kissing her or deepening the kiss. She couldn’t even stop her own sensual moan, and it made her want to curse him. She was moaning into Kylo’s mouth while Hooknose and Jackdaw, no doubt, watched on. Often they teased him, mocking his princely manners, especially his swordsmanship, aching to plow the Shieldmaiden, in the woods the morning he was caught. 

“We do not mock you, Lord,” cackled Asgot Red-Shield. “We mean to embolden you… against your enemies. And your own poor judgment.”

Loyalty to the Brotherhood came before all. Including women. Kylo’s loyalty to the Brothers of the Sword was his bond, and no woman would threaten what he’d built from the ground up. Their focus was pillaging and conquering. But the Brothers were a roving band of happily married men, at home on the farm adoring husbands and fathers, and Kylo was growing lonely and restless — so when the Queen whispered of this soul match, the proposal intrigued them. And the strange Shieldmaiden they found on Isaland intrigued them even more...

The Shieldmaiden was cunning and clever and full of secrets. Kylo’s men had no interest in the marriage or securing her safe passage to their kingdom, but, piqued with lust, their lord viewed the Shieldmaiden’s wiles as a captivating challenge — one he was determined to conquer, even if lying with her was as defiant as it was inevitable.

Faring with Lady Rey had been a fantasy come true for their lord — what started as lust was quickly turning into the kind of partnership their lord could never have dreamed. But their arrival in foreign lands marked a new chapter, one that demanded a Viking wife. With impossible decisions to be made, Kylo’s alliances were fraying, and past promises may not have been enough to save him from having to betray those he was sworn to — including Lady Rey.

“You know nothing of my judgment. You know nothing of my plans and strategies,” shouted Kylo.

If the Shieldmaiden loved their lord it took the same form of most in the Skywalker Clan’s know — admiration from a distance. Given the number of palatial demands Kylo had spent traveling during their betrothal, the two were still strangers in many ways. But Lady Rey was, at her core, a pragmatic woman who knew from her people’s harsh history that there were far worse fates than a utilitarian marriage.

“Lord Poe would agree with us,” nodded Ironfist.

“My second may agree with you, but he would obey me. He knows his place.”

He held no grudge against them. They were naked as children, frolicsome, full of good humor, always inclined to laugh, which they did with irresistible grace.

It was a pleasant sight to see the Lord and Lady wading in the rivers in the cool of evening, free of care, living cheerfully and at their hearts’ ease. They did not seek more than they needed. They shared with their clansmen. They overflowed with mercy and loving kindness. They had no wants beyond what the day provided. Like the daisies of Freya’s Fólkvangr, where good men and women grew weary of battle, beautiful, fragile, and propitious, yet She Who Shines over the Sea, the death goddess, in all her glory was not sung as one of these.

It struck their lord that there was some other way of existing in this world, outside the eternal circle of struggle and desire. Little by little they had watched as he parted with the ideas that clothed the soul of the Viking, above all that a man attains strength through force. The fight was nowhere to be found in this boy. A battle-hardened Vikingr! He assumed, in some measure, the dress and manner of the Shieldmaiden as he discovered a self he never knew he had. His countrymen had lost something these Isalanders enjoyed like the very air they breathed. Why should their lord ever wish to leave this Valhalla? 

But even as their lord entertained these thoughts, they half-knew he would not honor them — that the passionate conviction of this summer afternoon would one day seem a dream, a passing fancy. For the moment, however, he was a free man. He had opened his eyes. He could follow his vision or betray it as Odin had.

Kylo’s hand ran down her back and grasped her waist. But it didn’t stop there. He continued down until he was grasping at the back of her thigh, right where Einar’s hand had been when he’d helped her up onto the back of the horse. 

He pulled back then, all the while still holding her thigh. “You are mine to touch. No one else’s. Do not allow that bacraut to touch you again, or I will cut his hands off while you watch and are properly pupped.”

Her mouth dropped open even further, and she stared up at him, seeing flames dance in his eyes. Only seconds ago, he’d been kissing her as though she was a precious lover, and now he was threatening to kill a man. Her look of perplexity only caused Kylo to laugh the more. They returned to camp. After they were fat and satisfied, Kylo conferred with his advisors about Kveldulf and his clan. And how they might end their terror, once and for all.

~oOo~

Next morning, after having searched the village for more warlocks, they were off again. They sailed on just the same day after day.

“There isn’t much excitement on the ship, is there?” asked Apailana, tired of being confined in such a narrow space.

“Not when we are on a trading voyage. But suppose we were on a warship and we did not know every time we went round a point but that enemy ships might be waiting to dart out and attack us?”

“Ah! that would be some fun. When I get back I am going to fight all the time. I am not going to be a trader,” said Apailana.

“Well, we turn now and go up the river that leads to Malar Lake, wear a Birka is, so you will have something new to think about soon,” said Poe.

In a short time more Apailana said, “What a strange dead forest that is over there.”

Poe looked and smiled. “Those are the masts of ships, not trees in a forest,” said he.

Soon they came round a point of land, and there was a whole fleet of trading ships lying at anchor. 

“There is Birka,” said Kylo, pointing to a town by a high wall of earth and stones. He was going to say something more, but the men made such a noise letting down the anchors that he stopped.

“We shall go ashore in one of the small boats,” said Kylo, as the men lowered one of the boats into the water.

~oOo~

When they were finally on the shore and walking up into the town, the girls’ eyes were wide open with interest at the many strange things they saw. The traders had put up rows and rows of tents and booths in which to show their goods. Men bedecked in riches as vibrant as the Bifröst itself.

They stopped in front of a booth where an Arab was busy spreading out some beautiful swords from Damascus.

“You look like a great warrior,” said the Arab to Kylo. “Have you ever seen a sword like this? Feel its edge. See how I can bend it double and how straight it springs back again.”

“A wonderful sword, truly,” said Kylo. “Our smiths in Danmark cannot make anything equal to it.”

“Kings and warriors all over the world buy our swords. There are none like them,” said the Arab. 

“I must have it,” said Kylo.

He wore on his arm a bracelet made of a long spiral cord of silver. From one end of this he broke a piece long enough to pay for the sword.

In the next booth was another man from Arabia. “What a beautiful silver vase!” said Kylo. “I must get it for Mother. Will you trade it for furs?” he asked of the man who owned it.

“Willingly,” answered the Arab.

“Go back to the ship and bring up our furs,” said Kylo to some of his men.

When the furs began to come the Arab said, “These are very perfect furs. If you have more than enough to pay for the vase I will buy them all from you and pay you in Arabic coins.”

“Very well,” said Kylo. “I have many furs.”

After the furs were sold Kylo looked to see where he should go next. The girls were beckoning to him from another row of booths. He went across to them and found that they were looking at some beautiful silk caps covered with lace.

“They are just like the ones you wear when you put on your finest clothes,” said Apailana.

“Ja, all those caps are made at the same place. It is across the water in a country south of here,” said Kylo.

This country was now called Rusland. 

Then he said to the trader, “My old cap is shabby and I wish to take several back to Danmark as presents. Will you trade for dried fish?”

“Yes,” said the man.

So Kylo sent the men back to the ship for the fish. They had not brought to Birka so many fish as they had furs, so Kyo took enough of the beautiful caps to pay for the fish.

All the rest of the day Kylo and the girls wandered round the town looking at the strange things. 

“Why, there is Beimuni the Keen!” said Kylo suddenly. “Practicing your word play?”

“O, look at you, blood-drenched drengr! Have you been warring without me?”

Beimuni the Keen came from Danmark also. The warrior-poet had taught Kylo the art of writing poetry, and it was only natural that he surpassed him. He and Kylo were great friends, so they began talking together. At last Rey and Apailana grew tired standing still and listening to the men talk while there was so much to see about them. 

“I believe Kylo has forgotten all about the silk for Hooknose’s baby. You know the Queen told him to be sure to get some silk so that she could make baby Thorstein some soft clothes.”

“Let’s go ourselves and hunt,” said Apailana.

Rey agreed and they started off. They wandered in and out among the booths, looking at the many strange things for sale: at the dishes, the clothes and laces, and other kinds of beautiful wares.

“The clothes the people have on are stranger than anything they have to sell,” said Rey as they passed Rus’, Greeks, Mongols, and Arabs.

“I think that man’s clothes are not made for the sharp air of our northern country. He looks cold,” said Rey as they stopped at the booth of a tall Arab dressed still in the loose flowing linen robes and big turban hat that he wore on the hot sands of his desert at home.

“And doesn’t that man in the booth next to him dress strangely?” said Rey, pointing to a Greek from Miklagard. 

“Fortunately he has here the silk we want for the baby,” said Apailana. 

The Greek saw the girls looking at the silk. “I bought it from a trader who came to my country from India,” he said.

“You stay here while I bring my husband to see it,” said Rey.

Rey started off, but when she reached the place where she had left Kylo there was no Kylo to be seen. So then she began to hunt. Up and down she wandered, going into every booth.

“Where can he be?” thought Rey.

She hunted until she was tired, then she thought, “I’ll go back to up Apailana and we can hunt together.”

But by this time she could not even find the booth where she had left Apailana. “I could find my way easier in a mountain forest than this town. There are rows of booths everywhere and they all look so much alike,” she thought to herself.

It was beginning to grow dark, and Rey was hungry as well as tired. 

“Here you are at last!” cried a voice behind her. She turned, and there was Beimuni. 

“I’m glad I found you. Kylo and I have had a great hunt.”

“Why, I have been hunting you,” said Rey.

Beimuni laughed. “Come back to the ship with me. You would not object to something to eat, would you?”

“Nei; what about up Apailana?”

“Kylo and Poe came across her two or three hours ago.”

So after they reached the ship Kylo came back to see if they had found any traces of the lost girl. “You had better keep near me next time, my little Valkyrja,” shaking his finger at Rey.

Rey smiled foolishly, but said nothing. She had felt so grown-up going off on a voyage with Kylo, and now to get lost like a small girl!

“Beimuni!” shouted Dag the Fat. “Sing a song to lift our hugr! To rouse the gods! Inspire a mighty fart from Thor to speed us on our way home!”

Next morning they started to return. When they came near home Kylo said, “The ship is to go under its shed this time, not upon the beach.”

“I’m sorry winter is near. We’ll have to wait till spring for more voyages,” said Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Tafl — also known as hnefatafl, meaning “table” or “board game of the fist,” where “fist” referred to the central king-piece, were a family of ancient Nordic strategy board games played on a checkered or latticed gameboard with two armies of uneven numbers much like modern checkers or chess.
> 
> Toga Hönk — tug-of-war. The name literally means tugging on a loop, or a hank. The sagas are silent on the details, but it is thought that two men sat on the floor or the ground, knees bent, with the soles of their feet pressed flat on the soles of their opponents feet. They pulled on a loop of rope, which may have been marked in the middle with a tag, or with a bit of rope. By pulling on the loop with the arms and straightening the legs, it is possible to pull an opponent over, winning the competition. The competition used movements and muscle groups similar to those used in rowing a ship. Perhaps the game was also a way to sort out who might be a capable rower and thus a desirable candidate for the crew of a ship.
> 
> Knattleikr — an ancient ball game similar to lacrosse played by the Vikings. The rules of knattleikr have been pieced together in part using excerpts from the Icelandic sagas, though the ambiguity of these sources makes some of the details unclear. The deducible details of the sport are as follows: Each player would be paired off against a comparable player from the other league. In outstanding cases, two players would be matched against one. For the length of the match, these pairs were only to contend with each other; nobody was allowed to interfere with a player they were not paired against. In contesting with each other, these rivals would run, fight, wrestle, and do whatever was necessary to overpower their opponent. If they were able to slip past or disable their opposition, they could directly or indirectly aid their own league. It was a spectator game, with tournaments drawing huge crowds from all over Iceland. The objective of each team was to lob a ball or puck ( _knottr_ ) through the opponents’ boundary-goal. Some sources suggest each pair had their own ball to fight over, though the majority of sources agree that one ball was used among all the players. In addition, the absence of any plural usage of the Old Nordic word for ball in the context of knattleikr games suggests the same. It appears that the player with the ball would primarily try to overcome his opponent to either run or throw it through the goal. He had the freedom to pass the ball to a teammate, though it appears this was not the focus of the sport. The objective of the offensive players not currently handling the ball was likely to remain open to receive it, while each rival opponent would likely try to block them (probably with wrestling more often than field positioning). The players also wielded bats ( _knatttré_ ) with which to handle the ball. Some sources suggest each pair shared a bat between them, alternating intermittently, but the practicality of this is hard to imagine; most sources agree that each player had his own bat. This bat was likely used both for catching and striking the ball, though the specific rules regarding such mechanics are not known. It is clear that in addition to its ball-handling, the bat was often used to attack rival players. Thus, intimidation was a vital ingredient; dramatic fodder raised in word-storms has been recorded in the old sagas as well. There were penalties and a penalty box, as these games often broke down into fights, like modern hockey.
> 
> Langbarðaland — Italy. Land of the Langobards.
> 
> Lombungr — idiot or moron.


	13. The Visit to Dronningestolen (Queen’s Throne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left me kudos and comments and subbed last chapter! So sorry this took longer than expected to publish. I spotted a..... continuity error 😫 I had a very different Chapter 13 written weeks ago that I was going to post, but something felt off about it. And I'm glad I caught it when I did. I've had to rework my outline (again), and this chapter should be more cohesive. There might be post-edits, but I don’t think there is any real major spoilage here, so we’re “safe” for now. This is more of a Progress Report. What I want to achieve is a nice meat sandwich. I always know my story endings. It’s just a matter of figuring out the middle. But if I don’t fix some things we’ll have a f*ck sh*t stack instead. Having said that, I’m not sure when the next update will be 🛠🧑🏾🔧 But I promise it will be a big bastard. If you’d like to show your support and see this story continue, you guys know what to do! Love you all! Best readers everrrr 😘 
> 
> ⚔️Rey’s sword is based on the Albion Valkyrja Viking [Sword](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suontaka_sword), a recreation of an authentic viking relic found in a grave in Suontaka, Tyrväntö, Tavastland from the 11th Century. The original sword, discovered in 1968, is on display in the [National Museum](https://www.museovirasto.fi/en/) in Helsinki, Finland.

While Kylo and the men were gone to Birka, the women and Helga and Freydis stayed at home as usual. They were very busy getting clothes ready for the long winter.

“I am so tired of pounding flax to get it ready to spin,” said Helga to Freydis. 

“And I am so tired of spinning. I wish I were a boy and could go off on a trading voyage,” said Helga, giving a twitch to her distaff. “There, I have broken my thread!” she went on a moment later.

“O, Lady!” cried Helga as the Queen suddenly appeared near them. “Can’t we girls do something to have some fun? Here are our brothers off with our Father and uncles while we girls have to stay home and work.”

“Do not Hooknose’s daughters wish to learn how to care for a house, so that when they grow up and are in charge of homes of their own they will know how to direct their servants?”

Helga hung her head a little bit but did not answer. She was so tired of pounding that flax.

The Queen smiled; then she said, “But I do not want you to have to work every day. I have been planning that tomorrow we should go up into the hills nutting.”

“O, Lady, how nice!” cried the girls.

The Queen, with her bunch of keys at her belt, went outside the house. She went to a grass patch where long strips of linen were bleaching. Today the sun was shining brightly. Yesterday it had rained. Between the two kinds of weather the linen was getting very white. 

“It will soon be white enough to make up into underwear,” she said to a woman with her.

The Queen and the woman went back into the hall. “You may go on with your weaving,” the Queen told the woman.

The woman went over to a loom that stood at one side and commenced to send the shuttle to and fro between the threads.

“As for the rest of you, I shall get you some cloth to make into clothes for yourselves,” said the Queen. She was speaking to her other women, who had cleared away the breakfast and now stood waiting for orders. The Queen went over to a chest that stood near the wall. She unlocked it with one of the keys that hung at her belt and took from it a large roll of blue woolen cloth which she gave to the women. 

“Now I shall go to my embroidery,” she said. 

The Queen was embroidering a heavy woolen cloth to hang on the wall on a feast day. She was making a picture on it of the deeds of the hero Ongendus.

The two girls came in and sat down with their work. “Please tell us a story, Lady,” they said. So the Queen told them the story of the Cottage’s Son.

Once upon a time in the forest there lived a poor man and his wife and his baby son. When the son was only a few days old a beggar woman came to the door and asked for shelter for the night. She had a long staff in her hand and was bent nearly double. She was shivering also. The poor man did not have much food in the house, but he gave the beggar woman part of what he had.

Next morning, after the man had gone to work, the mother saw the old woman rocking the baby’s cradle. But she was no longer old and bent. She was a young and beautiful woman, singing to the baby. The woman knew then that the old woman was really a fairy and that the baby would have good fortune. 

As the boy grew up he was brighter than most children. One day he was taking care of his mother’s goats in the forest and the fairy woman appeared to him and said:

“The time has now come for you to go into the world and seek your fortune.”

“Tell me, what will be my future lot in life?” asked the youth.

“Meet me here next Thorsday,” said the fairy.

That night at home the youth was very silent. Next morning his mother questioned him as to why he was so quiet. He told her about the fairy.

When Thorsday came the mother said to her son: “You shall now go to the place agreed upon. I do not soon expect to see you home again, because I know the fairy means to help you. If you wish to be happy yourself never turn away the poor or needy or anyone needing help.”

The youth met the fairy at the appointed place. She told him to follow her and led the way deeper and deeper into the forest. The youth saw they were walking along a little ant-path, and he kept as much to one side of it as possible in order to not step on the ants. The fairy turned around and saw how careful he was not to hurt the little creatures. She smiled, but said nothing.

At length they came to a fountain, where they stopped. The youth saw an ant that had fallen into the water and was about to drown. He took a leaf and with it helped the ant from the water. When his companion saw this she said: “When I saw you step aside on the ant-path I knew you were intended to be a king. Now I give you the power of changing yourself into an ant. First drink from this spring in which the blood of a holy man is mixed. After this you will never be defeated in combat.” The youth drank three times of the spring water, after which the fairy left him.

For many days he wandered on. At last he came to another kingdom and asked the first person he met if there was any news in the country.

“The only news is old,” replied the gestr. “The king is out of his mind, which makes him unhappy, for no cure can be found.”

The youth asked, “Can people talk to the king?”

“Nei,” said the gestr, “because a crafty jarl, who hopes to succeed to the throne, keeps them away.”

The youth went to the palace and asked to be admitted. As he expected, he was refused. In the evening, however, a little ant crept up the palace stairs and through the keyhole into the room where the king sat. A youth suddenly appeared before the king; he bowed and inquired the cause of the king’s sorrow.

“For it is possible,” he went on to say, “that I may know a cure.”

The king looked at his visitor in silence for a time, but at last he spoke thus: “I may well be sorrowful. My beautiful spring is dried up. My first fairest tree no longer bears fruit. And my only daughter has been carried away by a giant to the mountains beyond the great flood.”

“What reward do you promise him, O king, who can bring back the young princess?”

“My daughter for his wife and my kingdom to rule over,” replied the king.

A little ant crept through the keyhole and down the stairs unseen by anyone. Soon a youth was on the high road, asking the way to the great flood.

On the third day he reached the banks of a large river. Near it was an old, old ferryman, sitting on the dead stump of the tree.

“Please row me to the other side,” said the youth. “How long have you been here?” he asked when they were in the boat.

“Three hundred years. But my sins were so great that I can never die. Sooner could that dead stump put out leaves can I be forgiven.” He pointed to the stump of a dead tree nearby.

Soon he landed the young man on the other side of the river. In a little while an ant crept up the mountainside to the hall of the giant. The giant was not at home, but the most beautiful princess in the world sat there alone. The youth changed himself back into his proper shape, and when the princess saw him she was very happy. He told her he had to come to save her from the giant. She was expecting the giant home soon, so she hid the youth. 

Soon the giant came in. He lay down on a couch and went to sleep, and the princess sat down beside him. In a few minutes the girl jumped up. The giant awoke and asked what had happened. 

“I slept and dreamed that the clear spring at home had dried up,” replied the princess.

“I threw a large stone into it, and the water cannot get out,” replied the giant, going to sleep again.

Presently the girl gave another jump and again the giant awoke.

“What did you dream about this time?” he asked.

“I dreamed that my father’s fair tree no longer bore him fruit,” she answered.

“That,” said that giant, “is because a wicked jarl has killed your younger brother and buried him under the tree. If your brother’s body is taken up and buried properly, and the jarl is punished, the tree will again bear fruit.”

A third time the giant fell asleep, and a third time he was awakened by hearing the princess jump.

“What can you be dreaming about this time?” he asked.

“I dreamed that the old ferryman at the great flood asked me if his sins could ever be forgiven.”

“Not unless the water that is in the flask hanging over there on the wall is sprinkled on the dead stump near his hut,” answered the giant.

For the fourth time the giant fell asleep, but soon the princess gave a loud shriek.

“What is now the matter?” he asked.

“I dreamed that a man killed you,” she answered.

“Do not be alarmed,” the giant replied. “He who can use my sword must first have drunk of the spring in which the blood of holy men has mingled.”

With these words he turned over and again went to sleep. The youth in his hiding-place had heard all that was said. He now came forth and took down from its place the giant’s sword and at one blow cut off his head. He then took the princess with him and together they started back to her home. They took with them at the flask of water and sprinkled it over the dead stump, that the ferryman’s sins might be forgiven. When they reached home they had the stone taken from the spring and the body of the young prince taken up and buried properly before the king knew they had come. Next morning ere it was really light a servant stood before the king. 

“The clear spring, O king, runs once more. Here is a goblet of water from it. The fair tree also bears fruit again.”

The king was delighted and went out himself to see these wonderful things. As he came to the tree his daughter stepped out from behind it and fell on her knees before him. Then the youth also appeared.

“You shall marry my daughter and rule my kingdom as I promised,” said the old king to the youth.

A few days after the wedding the princess and her husband drove in a splendid gilt chariot to the hut of the youth’s father and mother.

The old people did not know their son at first. But they were happy when he told them that he was not rich and great and that henceforth they were now to live with him.

“I forgot how tiresome it is to pound flax, I was so interested in the story,” said Helga.

“I wish stories never had ends to them,” said Freydis, with a sigh.

Next day they made a holiday and went after nuts from the beech-trees in the hills nearby. They had such a good time that as they came home Helga said to Freydis, “I am not sorry I am a girl, after all.”

“Never, young Freydis, for you possess the ability to weave new worlds,” replied the Queen.

~oOo~

“Valkyrie! It’s time for your training! Get up!” Kylo called as he banged on Rey’s bedchamber door loud enough to wake the entire kingdom.

She grabbed her pillow and shoved it over her head to try to tune out the loud drumming noise. It didn’t work. It was just as loud, if not louder because she was starting to actually wake up and feel the enormity of the vibrations from how hard he was hitting the wood. If he’d kept going, he might have just broken it down.

She knew the battle training was such a privilege. Many women in the kingdom did not have the same luxury she did. Most had no time to set aside from domestic matters for the arts of combat, and yet there she was, riding a magnificent-looking mare and shadowing Kylo’s moves on the practice field. She fought with a sword, axe, javelin and bow expertly. 

It was another reason why she wished not to be a useless, bawling princess, to be a lowborn shieldmaiden again. She wanted everybody to have the ability to do anything they loved. But if Kylo never let her leave the village, then her dreams would never be reality. Perhaps she could convince him to let her teach the girls here.

The idea had her jolting out of bed, gasping with the realization that it might be an actual possibility. She’d be safe, protected — by those imbeciles, Ketill and Sigurd — but it would be better than nothing. Kylo might say yes to it. It won’t be the amount of freedom she wanted, but still. Her betrothed was somewhat of a forward thinker when it came to women and their intellect. He was wise enough to know that his own soon-to-be wife had such intelligence in abundance and that he would be a fool not to take advantage of it. Not to say he was completely reformed of his antiquated ways of thinking, which was proven by his power quest to marry largely for strategic reasons without even batting an eye. Yet he did have a look of sympathy in his eyes after telling him that, in less than two moon’s time, having left the only home she’d ever known, traveling to a land she’d never seen, she would marry a man she’d never met. However, her being upset by something and him standing against hundreds of years of tradition to make his betrothed happy were two different things. 

Duty above all else. Even love.

One morning Kylo was out before breakfast looking at the barley. 

“It is ready to cut,” he said. “We must begin at once, for it is a large crop this year.”

After breakfast he went again to the fields, taking all the men with him. He had about seventy-five men working for him. Arta and Thorkel followed also.

All the summer the blacksmith who lived on their farm had been busy making new sickles with which to cut the grain. He had also sharpened the old ones.

“I am going to count the sicles,” said Arta as they neared the field. “Thirty-five,” he added a few minutes later.

“But that is not nearly enough to go around,” said Thorkel.

“That doesn’t matter,” said Arta. “Some of the men have to tie the grain in bundles after the others have cut.”

By this time all were ready. The sun glistened on the blades as the men drew them back ready to cut. Swing! went thirty-five flashes of light in the sunshine. Swish! went the steel through the barley stalks. Thud! went piles of grain on the ground. The men who were waiting sprang forward to gather up the stalks and bind them together. So the harvest began.

Kylo was so interested that he stepped very close to one of the men who was cutting.

“Take care, Lord!” said the man. “You are too near. I shall cut you.”

Kylo jumped back, not noticing that this brought him close in front of another reaper. In a moment more the end of the sickle had cut him in the calf of the leg and the blood began to flow.

“The Lofðungr is cut! The Lofðungr is cut!” shouted Arta.

Kylo limped over to the edge of the field.

“Does it hurt much?” asked Arta. 

“Surely, but you will not find me a gellir. Only teat-sucking babies cry,” answered Kylo, standing as straight as the pain of his leg would let him.

The Queen came running when she heard the men shouting that Kylo was hurt. She had the box that held her herbs, grasses and potions. She bent over and looked at the cut, then she said, “It will not hurt long, but come to the house and have it bound up.”

She wound some linen strips around the cut, and then Kylo said, “I am alright now.”

He gave a big caper to show how much better he felt, but the jerk sent a shock to the hurt place. Kylo dropped on a bench and clasped his hands round his leg.

The Queen smiled and said, “I see it is not safe to let these boys stay at home. How would you like to go to the hills for me to take something to the girls there?”

Kylo wanted to shout, “Hurrah!” Kylo forgot his hurt, he was so happy, and began to jump about again. Again the sharp pain made him drop back on the bench, but his face was covered with smiles in spite of the pain.

“We haven’t seen the women for days,” said Arta. They agreed that Kylo should come to Rey after nine nights had passed. Kylo loathed waiting. While he waited, he complained: “Rey... O Rey... Why are you so cold! O Rey! I curse the day... you were seized with lust... for my perfect legs... Go back to your f-frigid mountains! The sea is my mistress!”

Surely, he could find plenty of grubby, tree-climbing, elf-loving sword-maidens in his own country to marry. Rey had an adventurer’s heart. He hardly saw it behind the war table, but now he’d watched her scale a Svear tower, furs soaking wet. Did he really think she wanted him?

“Lord, your drunken lament ripples through Danmark. What has brought you to this state?” asked his long-suffering hersir. They may have always been brothers, bound by honor, not blood, but that didn’t mean Kylo didn’t drive Poe to wanting to club him with a tree branch every now and then.

Kylo scoffed. “I have... a beautiful…” and belched, “...beach home... in Dybsbroen! The most… perfect place in all Danmark! But is it enough to make Rey God’s-Eye happy? Nei! She wants us to freeze... up in the f-fucking mountains with the f-fucking nissers!”

“She is Isalander. You should have known this before you betrothed her,” said Poe, challenging his retort.

Why, oh why, did he have to talk reasonably? Kylo hated it when he used his calm, appeasing voice, and he hated it even more when he made sense. People who thought rationally when you wanted to marinate in your misery should be automatically stomped on by a large herd of boar. 

Kylo growled at him. “She chose _me!_ Can I help it that I have such beautiful hair?”

“You cannot keep this up. Your wailing has summoned a sea storm.”

But Kylo didn’t want to be a mature adult. He’d rather be a petulant child and stomp his foot until someone said, _All is well, great Wren, you don’t have to marry that stubborn brute of a woman._

Why was he in need of a wife again?

 _A woman helps you grow,_ said his Father when he was blooded before the age of ten and led the greatest army Danmark had ever seen.

_Grow old?_

_Grow_ roots _and that is what you’re missing, my gentle little offshoot. A well-matched marriage could forge a strong alliance. Marriage would show your commitment to Skywalkerland._

And where was the grumpy, old bear now? Oh, right. Gone keeping the kingdom safe... again.

“I care not! I have mead enough to keep me warm till… till… Rey and her clan return to their f-frigid homeland.”

“Maybe they will, but not before plundering the vast riches from your beautiful home.”

“I had not thought of that!” Kylo admitted. “By Ymir’s balls, I must return to shore!” Poe must have read his mind, because Kylo finally relented. “Bring me a boat, Poe! I still have my pride. I refuse to swim like a… fish… fisher… fisherman! Bring me a boat!”

So Rey and several women of her train had taken up all the arms and almost all the shields up into the hills. 

“It really is lovely here. I have not been this far east of the settlement. Isn’t that awful?” asked Rey.

“You think ‘safety’ awful?” snarked Lady Hooknose. She was hard as hog’s breath.

“To live one’s life in so small a pen. And hear stories from Kylo and the scouts without ever venturing further.” 

Lady Ironfist laughed. “Gods, do you smell that? The earth and the air. It is good to be out here.”

Rey paced up and down the field and practiced weaponry with the women. Their bond developed, and the women opened up to Rey about their lives and some included the dual loss of friends, husbands, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters at the cost of war.

“Many women are brought up with this notion that men are stronger.” Rey presided over them. “Maybe physically stronger, but women have a lot of advantages that men do not. We’re faster; we’re more pliant; we have a higher pain tolerance. Women are inclined to have babies. Men are not. And, if it were up to them, there wouldn’t be much of a world population...” Much laughter met this. “Women are also particularly small. We also carry most of our weight around the hips and below, which firmly roots us to the earth. And without roots there is no growth! A solid center of equilibrium, compared to men, who are top heavy. It is very easy to get underneath them and use our strength and suppleness. We just have to figure out what works best. Under the chin and strike the throat. Move the head, take the power. A lot of different ways to go about it. I, alone, will hammer you lumps of meat into women of iron, into raiders!”

“I’ll prepare some food for you to take up to the Dronningestolen,” said the Queen.

After Kylo had his horse ready he said to the men, “I will begin to saddle the two packhorses while you put the bridles on your riding-horses.”

Danmark was wet, harsh, and the ground was so flat and sandy you couldn’t grow a fart, but in Klinten the cliffs were so steep and high that when Kylo’s family reigned there for generations there were almost no roads, only narrow paths along the rocks. So most of the traveling over them had to be on foot or on horseback. In fact, even now, almost a thousand years later, there were still few roads to the cliff pastures.

It was believed that Klintekongen was a successor of Odin by the citizens of Klinten. It was said that he lived in two caves, one for himself and one for his hound and white horse. His queen had her throne, Dronningestolen, on top of the vast chalk bed which bore Danmark. She would sit in her chair, looking for her husband while he was out on raids.

As long as Klintekongen guarded the hilly island no one could invade it. It was said that he rode in the shape of a bird on his horse though the villages and the forest to save Klinten from foreign raids. He could turn the stones on the beach and the forest trees into warriors when necessary.

The cliff king was a helper for those in need, but if anyone got too close to his private quarters he would trick them. There was a garden on the shore that only could be seen from the cliff’s edge. It was a place of never-ending enchantment with the most delicious fruit trees, especially ones with big juicy red apples. But any attempt to pick one of those apples was bound to fail. When, and if, anyone reached the garden there was only juniper, thicket and hawthorn to be found. And the mysterious spring, to those who had once encountered it, could not find it again when they returned to the kingdom.

By the time Kylo and the men brought the horses burdened with mounds to the door of the house the Queen had several bags full of food for them to take up to Rey, Apailana, and the other women. 

“Please hurry. You are so slow,” said Thorkel. 

“That’s what people always think when they are not working themselves,” answered Arta, taking the bridle and jumping on his horse.

For they were ready at last, and off they started. They rode out past the waving green fields where the men were cutting the grain, and then they began to climb. They went up, and up, and up, until at last Thorkel said, “Doesn’t the house look tiny! It doesn’t look big enough for a bird’s house.”

“Ja,” said Arta, “and see how many arms the field has!”

Thorkel stopped his horse and looked down. Sure enough the field ran up between a dozen interlocking valley spurs and marshes, and as they looked down the green patches between the rocks looked like arms stretched out. 

“This is the last sight you will have of the house,” said Kylo. 

In a minute they were in a dark forest where they could see nothing of the sunny ocean and fields below. By and by they began to climb up a path so steep and narrow that even their mountain horses had to pick their way very carefully as trees that had fallen over were left to rot. Kylo was ahead leading the two packhorses.

Arta called to Thorkel, “O, Thorkel, aren’t you afraid?” 

Thorkel looked back and said in a low voice, “Ja, but don’t let the lord know it.” Then he added, “The poor packhorses are having a worse time of it than we. Their loads are so big and broad that they bump into the trees above and packhorses have to walk on the outside part of the path.”

But not much of the way was so bad as that, and soon they came up to a little wooden house where the girls stayed at night.

“Apailana! Apailana!” called Poe as they drew near. But no Apailana answered. “I wonder what has happened?” said Poe.

“Nothing,” answered Kylo. “The girls are away during the day taking care of the cattle out at pasture.”

“My Apailana is too exquisite for the pasture, her skin too smooth and her hair too lavish to have borne hardships.”

They unloaded the horses and took the bags of food into the house. Toward the evening they heard the clear note of a horn. The cliffs flung the echoes to and fro until the whole air seemed to be filled with the sound. 

“The call of the horn gathers the cattle together when it is time to bring them home for the night,” said Kylo.

Soon a band of cows appeared, and a woman with a long curved horn walked behind. 

“Where is Apailana?” asked Poe. 

“Just behind me with a flock of sheep,” answered the woman.

“Let’s go to meet her,” said Kylo.

Before he had finished speaking Poe had set off at a run and Kylo after him. They ran as fast as they could along the path the woman had come. Suddenly as they went round a sharp hill they ran into a band of sheep that Apailana was driving. Poe was ahead and he fell over the first. The sheep were scared and scattered in every direction. The rocky slopes resounded to less musical sounds as the ‘baa’ of each frightened sheep echoed among the peaks.

Apailana raised her blade to her husband’s throat, for now she could handle a sword, axe, or bow, then lowered it slightly to reveal that she was great with child. 

She gaped at him. It was laughable how fast her fair mouth turned shrewish.

“You, you…” she sputtered, and her Danish switched to rapid words the rest of them couldn’t understand.

Kylo knew the tongue but only grasped Apailana called Poe something worse than an _odious swine._ He didn’t mean to scare the woman, but he didn’t announce himself. 

“Your damn belly’s bigger than your blade, woman! I know you aren’t fighting in this condition.” Stifling a grin, he hugged her body flush to his. This was one way to tame her.

“A few days away from the hearth, and already the women are lusting for blood,” yelled Asgot Red-Shield. 

“You try waking up with morning sickness every day and see if you don't feel like cutting somebody’s head off,” Apailana cried. Haughtiness lined the accented Danish. “I am glad to see you, boys, but look at the sheep. I must get them together again before we talk.” 

“We’ll help,” cried the men.

The bearhounds helped too, and after a quarter of an hour of running and shouting the men had the sheep on the path again and headed for home. 

Apailana ran ahead to see her husband, while the men drove the sheep the short distance to the house. She was drenched with sweat at this point. Her dress was stuck to her body now, showing her voluptuous figure. Breasts, curvy waist, and pouty lips. Drops of perspiration flowed between her breasts, and Poe’s tongue flicked thinking about how he wanted to dry her heavy mounds. Their mother tongue seemed to get thicker and curlier when they whispered to each other.

Poe looked like he wanted to dry his wife’s sweaty body off with his so bad. It was an ache. They felt it in their cores — the need to be close together. Their bones ached to wrap themselves around each other. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Truly, she was the most beautiful woman he ever saw.

Soon Rey and several women came from different directions with more cows. The meadows were so big that the rotating cattle could pasture many places in good shape. Apailana cooked supper while the women milked. After supper they sat out of doors for a long time listening to the stories Kylo had told of England, where he had been this time last year. It was light still when they went to bed, for in Danmark in midsummer the sun did not set until late in the night.

Next morning Kylo and the men went back to the farm, taken with them on the packhorses the butter and cheese which the girls had been making during the summer.

~oOo~

It wasn’t until they got home that Rey realized Kylo was injured. The healing hands of Freya helped him, as the words were sung, and then Rey insisted that he stay home and feign rest while his calf healed unscarred. “No one has possessed the power you have,” Kylo pointed out. “No matter how unique we are, I cannot heal others. That makes you more valuable.” Rey did not know how to argue that point, though she still did not agree. She did not know why she had been given the ability and her siblings given none. Magic had no rhyme or reason, as far as she could tell. Some people had it, and some people simply did not. She breathed out a tired sigh and sat back, folding her hands in her lap. “I just want to enjoy quiet and anonymity.”

Every day for a week Kylo would sit outside and watch Rey as she trained in the field. He said his calf felt better and soon he would be able to return to his normal duties. He settled down in the ground, ready to enjoy his last day of watching Rey. 

His eyes slitted at Einar the Pretty, a warrior only a few years older than Kylo, but his handsome face bore the openness of one not scalded by life. 

And like metal to lodestone, Einar’s attention shifted to Rey.

His profile could be hewn from a distant wilderness. Harsh places had built his rugged frame. He stretched one long, muscled leg along the grass, and with his long flaxen hair cascading over his shoulders, eyes the color of startling light blue, muscles bulging in every direction, making him appear twice as big as the next largest Dane, he strode over to Rey and leaned over her. 

Rey darted in for the attack.

“Again, Lady,” Einar breathed careful, grunted.

She attacked, yelled.

“That’s good, but don’t stop when you have the advantage. We’ll reset.” 

Rey didn’t, so Einar used the voice he used when commanding his men. _“Down.”_

Rey’s eyes snapped to his, wide with all the anger of a she-cat. 

“Let me steady my feet,” said he.

Grunts and metal clanged. Their sounds were that of a man and woman making love. Their hugr were getting ready to soar on raven’s wings! The sounds they were making were noisy, ecstatic and familiar. Above all, they were lewd. The intention was a runestone in sound of a passionate man and passionate woman making love and traveling together. 

“Look at me, not my blade,” Einar pointed to his eyes. “Come on, Lady Rey, push harder! _HARDER!_ ” He nodded, satisfied. “Again. Come on!”

She collided against him, her shoulder slamming into chainmail as she tried to push him aside. He stood like a rock. Strong hands closed around her arms, bringing her deflection to a dead stop.

“It seems you have been taught well, Lady.” Her gaze, currently level with his broad chest, traveled upwards, took in his powerful jaw and strong sensual mouth, parted now in a smile. She twisted in his hold, but her efforts made no impression except that, if anything, his smile widened. Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he had pinned her sword hand to her stomach.

In a move he was not expecting, she took her elbow and shoved it into his gut. He doubled over, grunting from the sharp pain, and released his hold on her. She spun around and lifted her fist to hit him, but he straightened just in time and blocked her strike.

Before she could react he drew near. She leaned back, toying with him, getting out of his reach. He could take her if he really wanted to, but he enjoyed the game she was playing. 

As if to say, _You_ will _be mine, Lady, believe me, and soon enough._

“Come, that’s enough romantic dalliance.” Einar smirked, that damned smirk. “Strike me.”

“As you say, Lord Einar.” The softness of her voice was belied by the hardness glittering back at him from those intriguing eyes.

Breathless and shaking, she watched him move with a hungry look.

Sudden pain ricocheted down his left side and he squeezed his eyes shut. With enormous concern Rey helped him to his feet, which he had the weight of an ox. She had drawn blood from him. Einar was still dazed. 

“By Odin’s blood, you fight like a Dane stole your bread!” he guffawed. “You show strength and survival, Lady.”

“You are right!” called another warrior. “She’s too hot for you, Einar!”

Einar the Pretty glared. “We’ll see.”

Kylo watched as the warrior flirted with Rey. He could feel the tension in his body rising. His heart pounding faster and his hands curled into fists. When they were through sparring, Einar gave Rey a flower which she curiously accepted, Kylo growled and drew his sword, storming over to them, exaggerating a slight limp. 

“Stay away from her, _karl! She’s mine._ ”

“My Lord! Stay your sword!”

Kylo glared at the handsome warrior who quickly returned to his section of the land.

“Stay away from him, Rey,” Kylo warned.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“He wants to plow you, under my very nose, _THAT’S_ what’s wrong with him!” Kylo snarled.

“Oh? Is that a crime, Sea King?” She didn’t say the word ‘crime’ with malice, but her gaze slid over Kylo just the same. It appeared the lady only considered _him_ the criminal and not Einar. Did the girl think goading him right now was in her best interest? Kylo very nearly snorted, but managed to hold himself in check. There’d be plenty of time after the wedding to put her in her place. 

“Do you really want to play with me, Princess?” He challenged as he took a step toward her. His six-foot-three form towered over her diminutive form. “We are betrothed. Or is that of no consequence to you?” She tilted her head back to look up at him. Apprehension filled her eyes, but no fear, for which he was glad. He did not want her to fear him, just follow his instructions regarding the integrity of preserving her reputation. But whether he be a bane or a boon remained to be seen. He nearly laughed to himself. It was apparent Rey was not about to turn belly up and submit.

“Enough. Enough for today.”

He turned back to Rey, who made no move to obey. He raised an eyebrow and saw her chin come up. She lingered a moment more and then, in her own good time, turned away. Had she seen the wild and murderous glint in his eyes she might have made more haste for an instant later the flat of Kylo’s sword caught her hard across the buttocks. With a gasp of indignation, she spun around. 

“I am _not_ shore booty, you bacraut! I will not be treated like shore kunta!”

He caught her hard stare, and she blushed. She hated how he affected her. His nostrils flared as if he could smell the desire between her legs that was _just for him._ Perhaps she did get carried away with Einar. But the commander liked to show his feathers, and that he did, so Rey had to take him down a notch. She certainly hadn’t expected him to behave like a drooling goat! And nary was she guilty of what the turd-prince was implying by accepting the flower. It was an innocent gesture. Innocent as a newborn babe. Nothing ever, or would ever, happen between her and Einar. That was final. She couldn’t help the reaction she had to her jealous man. But she would not give into it.

He dragged her off the field after. Tucking her under one arm, he carried her indoors in another casual and humiliating demonstration of superior strength. He didn’t care that several clansmen and a few serfs driving their swine to feed stopped working to stare at them. 

“Perhaps this wedding will be followed by a funeral,” chuckled Beimuni the Keen. “A sobering enough thought.” 

Kylo pulled Rey into a hall bed-closet, flinging her against a bench. She put her hands out to stop herself from falling on the bench.

She heard the door slam shut and the muffled sound of his boots as he crossed the floor. Her dress was then pulled up, exposing her. The flat of his hand came down hard on her bare bottom, eliciting a yelp of indignation and further futile struggles.

“Let me go, you prick! You coward! Let me go!”

It was an unfortunate choice of words for half a dozen sharp whacks ensued. Rey yelled in rage but bit back any further insults, knowing he would avenge himself if she uttered them.

“You’re not going anywhere,” was the pleasant rejoinder. “It seems to me that you need to learn better manners.” 

Fuming, she forgot her former resolve in the face of his breathtaking arrogance. “You have the nerve to lecture _me_ on manners, accursed bqllr, festering with foulest drippings of Ymir’s corpse? Dung-head! Is that the best you can do? _NIPPLE!_ ”

That was a mistake — the hand descended several times more and harder, alternating each cheek. Rey gasped.

“Anything more?” he asked. “I can keep this up indefinitely if you can.”

Indeed there were plenty more things she could have found to say, chiefly concerning his genitals, manhood, hygiene, highborn birth, probable ancestry and certain destination in the hereafter, involving a beautiful dream of sailing through Helheim, drifting on a ship of fire, but with monumental effort she forced them back. Only a very small exhalation of breath escaped, reminding him of an infuriated kitten. Kylo waited a moment, but there was nothing more.

Gentle hands caressed her bottom, rubbing away his red handprints, soothing her pain. Rey gritted her teeth in helpless fury.

When he at last shifted she was hot and breathless and, to Kylo’s eyes, most attractively disheveled, for the brunette mane had escaped its braid and fell in tumbled curls about her shoulders. His shaft was hard as a rock already just from the feel of her soft bottom against his loins. And she bit back a moan.

“Until I break you, and I will break you, I will settle for enjoying your beauty and form. If you are not willing to respond to my words, then you will respond to my touch.”

His hold was tight, no doubt leaving bruises on her arms. 

“All day I have asked you to do things, and you have repeatedly ignored me. Every time you disobey me, there will be consequences.”

She thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he darted forward and bit her hard on her ass. She gasped and tried to step away, but his grasp was strong as iron bindings. He could hear her above him attempting to get at him, snarling and squawking at he who would not move. Kylo’s teeth sank deeper until she could feel the fresh trickle of nectar down her legs. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were gleaming with madness.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to watch you every day, wanting to fuck you, knowing I can’t have you?”

“Why? Why can’t you?”

He got to plow her because the gods commanded it. But he still had a mind of his own. And she also sensed it had something to do with why he couldn’t break her, or her him. Not for a lack of will, but because they were bonded. Kylo, for all his faults, had a certain fondness for Rey and would not force her to consent to his attentions or anything distasteful to her in their marriage.

A rather big part of her soul yearned for him to be her husband in that way, though. She had never imagined herself as a wife, but she could see herself being his. A repressed young woman coming into her power, liberated when she embraced her loves and passions. It terrified her, and the thought of him being with anyone else made her see red. It made her want to threaten death herself. Just as he had seen the way she glared daggers at Anaborg that time in the hall.

He stepped back and shoved her dress down. She straightened and turned to him, confusion lining her face. He wiped away a tear and traced the crest on her collar. 

“You are mine. I will mark you all over your luscious body until you understand that.”

Her eyes widened and she nodded silently. 

“Get back to your duties. To defy a future king is to shame him. Skywalkerland cannot heal without my honor in tact. Do it again, Valkyrie, and you go across my knee.”

The words were quietly spoken, but, looking at that imperturbable expression, Rey was left in no doubt that he meant it. She was also aware of the several grinning faces around them from those who had witnessed the little scene, no doubt hoping for further entertainment at her expense. For a moment she hesitated, caught between anger and indecision. Then Kylo stood up and took a pace towards her. Rey fled.

It had been most tempting to put all his strength behind it and beat her soundly, but he had resisted the notion and tempered the punishment. As it was, she would think twice before crossing him again. Like all Danes she would learn that rebellion came at a price.

His men waited till he was out of sight before they laughed. Kylo met the keen gaze of his hersir. “She will admit her undying love soon enough. Just wait.”

“I don’t doubt she will admit her undying love. And I am anxious to learn who the object of her affection is,” Poe jested.

Kylo scoffed. “I am not worried, brother. I can simply kill anyone who thinks he can have her.”

“I’m sure murder will endear her to you.”

Rey held the hem of her dress and got as far away from Kylo as possible. She hated that a part of her was excited by Kylo’s jealousy, to be spanked and bitten, but the other part of her was angry. How dare he! How dare he treat her like some sort of possession or property he could use to make a deal. What of _her_ honor? How much would she be willing to lose?

She hated him.

She hated all men. That was why she always stayed away. Nothing good could come from this.

“Princess!” Inger screamed her name to stop her, but it only made her run harder. The one thing she had would be taken away from her. Dignity. She’d have nothing. She went with a man she dreamt about, only to have her dream turn into her worst nightmare. “Princess, wait!” Inger called, but she ran up the steps until she got to her room. 

She slammed the door with all her might, shaking the foundation of the frame from her anger, from her rage, from her pain, from her desire. She screamed and shoved a hand between her thighs in desperation, feeling more alone than she ever had. She couldn’t believe Kylo would just bend her over like that.

Her breath came in short pants, to the point where she couldn’t breathe. “Get it off,” she whispered quietly to herself and reached behind to try to take off this damn dress, but couldn’t reach the stupid ties. The fabric felt like it was full of nettles, scratching her skin. “I need it off!” she sobbed, wailing into the loneliness of her room. She grabbed a pair of scissors off the dresser and cut from the top and all the way down until her skin hit the air. 

She never wanted to wear anything like that again.

Having adventured into the night, and far spent, she really had no rationalization for such strange emotions and the tingling was not that dreadful, so she decided to treat this like everything else she couldn’t, or didn’t want to explain, and place it in the back of her mind until another time.

~oOo~

Kylo, on the other hand, could not stop thinking of the woman with the pale gold, fire-kissed, bottom. Surely it was because he had never seen a woman’s bare bottom. _And I am proud of that fact!_ No filthy wench could ever compare to his shieldmaiden, probably not hardy enough to lay with him without swooning! What the Helheim was he even thinking about Rey lying with Einar anyway? _Ox-witted, pretty-boy Einar always following his cock?_ They would never betray each other. Rey would roast Kylo’s balls over a roaring fire and rightfully so. He must pray to Thor to get his mind back on the plan, not burying himself in Rey. He had plenty of time to bury himself in the willing thighs of a bride after the wedding, because the man in question wasn’t married yet. Once he was, Skywalkerland would have its king... and much more. He saw great things for them. No need for foresight. Kylo felt it in his heart. He had let the lady best him in one arena already, without so much as a skirmish. So he had earned himself a drink for his troubles. He sat very still, though his stinging hands still trembled slightly in his lap. “Rey… Rey… her heart is as cold as her... mountain peaks.”

Poe eyed Kylo and hesitated. “Having a sorceress for a wife cannot be easy.”

“The only time she ever really smiled… was when that… she-cat... nearly chopped my balls off! I remember thinking… this one is cruel… and magnificent! But is the pleasure worth the pain? And now… I have her… whole… whole cursed clan of Valkyries to deal with.”

“I know a rune that will dull the edges of their weapons,” Poe offered.

“Only if it will… blunt her tongue. I am a coward and a prick. A soft-cock.”

“I hope you find peace, noble wolf. Lesser men cannot put reins upon their lust and ride it. Instead they are ridden by it. A bad match can be troublesome, but not worse than having nothing to love.”

“My home snugly between her thighs will bring me pleasure enough. The Valkyrie will pluck me from the Helvegr, which leads those lesser men to Hel, and will bring me to yonder, to glorious Asgard.”

That wry smile cut across Poe’s face again. “I thought you may say that, and yet you find yourself here, in my home after teaching a lesson in humiliation and so, I rather think you are trying to bed me?”

Kylo exhaled, shifting his weight in the chair to lean against his right elbow. His big black eyes never left Poe, eyeing him with an intensity he had never felt before, all because of the sorceress.

“But what about you, wily Poe? What do you love?”

“Knowledge, Sea King, and the pursuit of it. Untangling the mysteries of a woman, uncovering lore of the heart... that is what feeds me.”

The object of his affection rounded the corner, bringing with it her unusual peppery scent, only seconds after the words had left his mouth.

“A bit late, dashing brutes,” Apailana said with a sleepy grin. The child made her greedy for her husband’s body now, perhaps she could sway him to stay under the furs longer. A little common sense should prevail. Poe was always a very practical man.

Kylo said in the most respectful way he could muster as he gestured to Poe’s wife, “Then from what I k-know of the world and all of the... realms… you will not go hungry with a woman like Apailana. Skål, brother! I raise my horn to you both.”

~oOo~

Today she was going to say she didn’t feel well to try getting out of training, for she was still smarting, as much from the humiliation as from his hand, but not now, that this idea brewed so harshly that her stomach turned into butterflies.

“Rey!” Kylo shouted again, and the door handle jiggled with his attempt to come in, but he couldn’t, because she always locked her doors.

“I’m coming,” she grumbled a bit, tossing the extravagant gold comforter off her body and flinging her legs over the mattress. She hid her secret shame, stretched and stumbled toward the door and unlocked it.

A scowling, disapproving face stared at her sleepy appearance. His lips pinched together. “You look a mess, Rey.”

“Ja, that tends to happen when one has just woken up,” she said with a yawn and decided she was going to play sick. Then, she’d just escape out of the window and sprint through the fields to her special spot. She didn’t want to go to training with Kylo and the other men. Especially if he was going to be so moody today. “I’m actually unwell today. I’m feeling under the weather, so I won’t be attending training.”

His eyes softened with worry, and he placed a hand on her forehead to check for a fever. “You do feel a little warm. I’ll have Inger come and bring you some soup and water.” He moved his hand to her cheek, and his cold fingers brought relief to her warm skin. “Ja, you are warm. I’ll tell everyone. Just rest.”

A wave of nausea hit her, and she doubled over, grabbing her stomach. _Well, this was not in the plans today._ Of course, the one day she wanted to pretend, she was actually ill. Just her luck. That’s what it was. It was the Elves turning her lie back onto her.

“Rey!” Kylo caught her as she lost the ability to stand. “I’m getting the Far-Seer, so that you may share in her secret knowledge of the world.” 

He carried her back to bed, and the soft feathers made her sigh as they formed to her body. He grabbed the covers and pulled them to her neck. “I’ll be right back with a cloth and cold water.” He ran his hand over the top of her head, pushing her hair back to get it off her forehead. “My poor girl,” he crooned.

His worry made her feel loved, and for a moment, she felt awful about the fact that she was going to lie to him about being sick. He cared for her. It was in moments like these that she remembered that he wasn’t just a Sea King, but he was also her soulmate. “I’ll be right back. Get some sleep.”

“Ja, Sea King,” she whispered. Aches started to rack her body, and she groaned. How was this so sudden?

“I hate that you aren’t feeling well,” he said, stopping at the door to turn back to her. “The Lovsigemand wanted to see if you were available.”

“I’m not. I’m sick.” She rolled over in bed, pulling the covers with her.

“For wedding preparations, Rey.”

Now she really felt like vomiting. “I’m never available for that. Can we please not talk about how you want to marry us off? I’m sick enough as it is.”

“Not sick enough to curb that smart mouth, I presume,” he mumbled.

She gave him a small smile. “Never.”

He shook his head and swiftly walked over to her and placed a kiss on her clammy forehead. “I’ll be back.”

His light cotton pants swayed as he left, shutting the door with a soft click. He began to whistle as he walked down the hall, and she wanted to throw a rock at him. He knew how much she hated it when he whistled — it was his way of signifying that he’d won some battle between them. This time, unfortunately, he had. She knew she would have to eventually come down to face her sentencing. Fine, so it was a marriage, not a sentencing, but it felt as though it were one in the same — like she would be walking to the gallows and the wedding was a noose to be wrapped around her neck. Perhaps she was being a tad dramatic, but better to be a tad dramatic in private and then poised and mature in public. She wouldn’t lose her dignity over this, but she knew it was going to break something inside her. The part of her that longed to be wild and free, to roam new lands, to meet new people, would be snuffed out, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was stuck, a product of her circumstances, with no way to change her lot in life. She kicked the covers off, took a lighter blanket, and wrapped it around her shoulders as she tried to get up. She wanted to sit by the window where she could feel the breeze rush over her hot skin. It was laughable, really. The fact that she was going to act sick and then here she was, wanting to submerge herself into freezing water just for a small amount of relief.

Unlocking the latches on the large, almost floor-to-ceiling windows, she sat on the bench Kylo made for her, tightening the hold on the blanket as she stared off into the lush, green fields and tall trees touching the heavens. The view was so beautiful and stunning she wished she could be outside forever. It reminded her of her early years in Isaland. Nature was so much better than stone walls. 

She laid her head against the wall, letting the breeze wash over her. As the leaves swayed on the branches of the trees, she thought about all the time Kylo had spent trying to court her. She’d never admit it to him, but she longed for him to make her fall in love. She longed for his friendship, his companionship, his lust, his consuming feeling of never wanting to be without her — she wanted it.

She would never admit it to Kylo, or he would only work harder to make her his until she was a well-pounded piece of flattened-out meat. What he didn’t understand was, she wanted a love of their own. She didn’t want it plucked off the field like a flower by the gods for them. She wanted them to pluck each other, to know they were the ones they liked most. Because Elves forbid if the gods did pick them and they were allergic.

The thought made her giggle. Allergic to Kylo. Maybe that shall be her new excuse to tell him. She could imagine his face turning the brightest shade of red, boiling with anger. She knew he wanted her to be taken care of if anything happened to him. Now, she’d never had her hand asked for; she wanted to clarify. Men got interested and then learned of her mouth, and they ran away like a coward. 

Weak men. Like Bloodaxe Eymundsson. Why did the old laws insist she needed a man like that? To be at their mercy? If they couldn’t handle words, how could they handle battle? 

Apparently, her mouth had a reputation, and the requests to meet her at the Alþings became less and less frequent. While it made her happy, there was a part of her that felt the sharp spear of rejection, even if she had gotten exactly what she wanted. Could no one handle a sharp personality like hers? Why must women always bend to a man’s will? Just the thought of having to do that had made her fever spike. She understood the ways and laws of her people. But she hated it. There had been one misadventure in the Orkneys. They had attacked the enemy’s fortress, and killed the king’s men, and weakened his control of the land. That was the truth. But Rey never mentioned the version where she had lost her crew and was nearly sold as a thrall. Though they suffered no losses in the fight, and the men who had humiliated them were dead, she’d been stupid, selfish, reckless, blind, and boneheaded. That wouldn’t be a part of her saga. If there was a skald who dared sing that verse, it would be his last song. That’s why she could understand killing another human being, but she would never understand treating one as anything less than a human being. Ways and laws be damned.

“Rey, I thought I told you to stay in bed?” 

She turned to see him carrying a silver basin and Åsa, their chief healer, followed him with a tray. She could smell the warmth of the broth from where she sat and as they came into the room. “I wanted to be by the window. The breeze is nice. It feels good against the fever.”

“My lady, dear, you look dreadful,” Åsa said as she set the tray in front of her. She gathered the material of her dark blue dress in the small fist of her hand as she sat. “Poor thing… eat up. We need to make sure you are better soon, ma’am.” She took the wooden spoon in her hand and brought it to Rey’s mouth. 

But even opening her mouth was a chore. 

“Come on, Your Highness… open up!” Her old voice wavered, but her hands were steady. She pushed the spoon against Rey’s lips, forcing them apart, and tipped the broth down her throat. 

Åsa had been like a second mother to the Queen her entire life. She had taken care of her, helped her understand what her moon was when it arrived when she was twelve, and held her when she cried more times than she could count. She was a good woman, and with her age, they knew the world would take her from them soon. The only thing that still looked young about her were her eyes. They were still a startling blue of a summer sky, full of experience and life. 

Her hair was long and white, and the laugh lines around her mouth told Rey she had had many smiles over her eighty-so years. But the lines under her eyes let Rey know she had her fair share of tears as well.

“No more,” Rey groaned, placing her hand against her head when dizziness struck, and she swayed. She perched against the wall, keeping herself steady so she didn’t fall over.

Åsa pursued her lips and dove the spoon back into the bowl, only to bring it to Rey’s mouth again. She turned her head to miss the eager spoon when a cold cloth settled on her forehead. Her mouth fell open, and she moaned from how good it felt. Åsa took her chance and spooned in her mouth again, and she narrowed her eyes at her with disdain.

“Oh, don’t you give me that, Lady Rey. I spanked the Prince’s bottom when he was a swaggering young cub running us all aground; I’ll spank yours, too!” She waived the wooden spoon at Rey, spraying a small amount of leftover broth onto her face.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she complied, not having the energy to spew off something smart for the first time in her life.

“Come on, dear, let’s get you back to bed so you can sleep,” Åsa crooned, setting her bony hands on Rey’s arms to try to guide her to the bed. But she didn’t want to go to bed. She wanted to stay by the window, where it was cool. She didn’t have the strength to fight Åsa, though. Everything around her blurred, and before she knew it, she was lying in bed, as Kylo was placing a fresh cold rag on her head. 

She sighed from relief. She could smell a bit of lavender blossoms he put in the water. It was his trick and it had been since the naked ambush. It relaxed her, and he never missed a chance to use it when she was unwell. “You used lavender,” she said to him. She sounded like there was a rock in her throat.

He gave her a genuine smile, one that she hadn’t seen ever. “As if I would forget how it makes my Valkyrja feel.” 

She let out a snort. “I know what you’re up to.”

“Ah, you do,” he teased, dabbing the cloth over her face. He dunked it in the basin again and rung it out, folded it, and lifted her head to place it on the back of her neck. “Get some sleep, Rey. If you’re better tomorrow, we shall go for a ride.”

Her heart leapt at the idea of riding with him. They hadn’t done that in weeks. Not since the last Vendian invaders tried to attack them. That day had meant so much. They rode, they fought, they drank, they laughed. He showed her his world. Not in words, but deeds. Deeds were more direct than words. Kylo was protective, so until he knew the threat was eliminated, Rey didn’t get to leave the grounds. Since he said they were going riding, she knew that he had taken care of the enemy, like he always did.

Kylo was the most powerful Prince in Danmark. Only fools tried to go to war with him.

Apparently, Rey was that fool.

“I’ll come back and check on you. Be good, little lavender,” he whispered as he placed one more kiss on her head before leaving the room. The nickname took her back to childhood, a time when she used to climb the hills beyond the wood. She was rowdy in her youth. Hunting, sailing. She was a wildling of the open air before she became this staunch and stoic woman. To be married off in service of peace between two clans. A noble and worthy role, but not one she ever imagined for herself. 

She missed those days.

“You be good, too,” she said to him. The door clicked shut, leaving her in the silence of her room, and she started to fall into a blissful sleep. 

Their daughters would make fine wandering warriors. Jomsvikings, free to come and go as they pleased. Rey believed that. It may be they would sail together, over the open seas. Trading, raiding English and Frankish soil to enrich their coffers, or traveling... Or faced their destined loves on the field of battle. Without her marriage to Kylo to secure the peace, their clans might still be at war.

Every bit of it was a dream... and she was not keen to wake. 

_Oh, nei... I got away from myself._

She was in a very difficult position. The heart did not do politics like the head. It may be the fever, it may be the lavender.

She was lucid enough. The truth of it was... she had felt this way for some time now. She cared for Kylo. 

Had he felt the same way? It would be comforting to know. But she banished the thought it would ever happen. Many times she wished to tell him. Wished to say what was in her heart and what she desired, but duty kept her from it. 

_Nei, Freya, forgive me. It was a moment of anxiety. Seeing Kylo now has calmed me down. I understand. We all know these peaks and valleys, from time to time._

Painful to know and painful to admit. But she may be right. It was foolish of her to think it could lead somewhere.

Dreams slid through her mind. Nightmare visions of the demonic jeering faces, red flashes of pain, crazed laughter.

The demonic faces disappeared, and there, through a thick black pall, stepped a warrior from an ancient legend. Tall and powerful, surrounded by light, silver flashing off his helm and shimmering along the naked blade of his sword. 

She cried out. He would save her if only she could make him hear, and there rose a steady roar, a sound inhuman, like the howling of a thousand wolves, bringing blackness wrapping around her like a shroud. Pleasure like a torrent of tears rushing through her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Gellir — yeller, screamer. 
> 
> Bqllr — testicle, glans penis.
> 
> 🔥Things will only get smuttier from here. Are you excited? I am 😏


	14. The Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding plans are in full swing. Kylo is still trying to amuse Rey. And Rey is just sitting there, brewing magic and fishing...

Rey’s fever finally broke like the morning mist in the sun after days of rest. She breathed in the still evening air. She twisted first one away, then the other, attempting to loosen the tight muscles in her back. The sounds of the feast echoed onto the quiet street. The skald started the first verses of the saga of ‘The Sword Tyrfing and the Shieldmaiden’. It was apparently one of the Queen’s favorites, but Rey hated everything about it. Shieldmaidens never found love except in stories.

It had been a spectacular feast, despite Rey’s non-attendance. Although there had been the usual niggles of people objecting to the seating arrangements and several questioning the quality of the ale, by and large the meal had passed without incident. She wished that the feeling of foreboding would pass and she could relax. 

The things she saw were like shimmers in a pond. Some were certain, and some remained shadows. 

A movement in the shadow of the grotto made her heart start. She crouched, instinctively reaching for her knife. “Who skulks in the shadows? Show yourself!”

“I do my best thinking in the shadows.” Kylo stepped forward. The torchlight picked out the planes of his face and the curve of his bottom lip. “You should be in there, celebrating our impending victory, listening to the skalds and basking in the glory before we drive the last of the rebels into the sea. My mother sent me to fetch you. It is customary for the sorceress to be present at these meetings.”

“Perhaps another day. Another thread.” Now was not the time to explain that such gatherings always unnerved her. Everyone always seemed to stare just at the time she knocked over the ale or laughed too loudly or accidentally banged her fist on the table. Fine ladies should be served mead or wine as they turned their noses up at ale, according to Inger’s dictates. “The people are fully capable of enjoying the feast without me. You know revelry does not suit me. Must I attend this feast? I have work to do.”

“And what do you plan to do next?”

“Make powerful magic here, fish, and try to convince Mother Leidvar to let me go east and down the rivers to Miklagard, instead of returning to Birka. You have been there, haven’t you?”

His face hardened in the dim light. “A hard journey. Many I’ve traveled with fell on distant shores.”

“We need to go to the market ourselves, instead of paying a premium for other traders to go. The Vikens give an even worse return than the Götalanders.”

“And Mother agrees?”

“She accepts to fund me.” She winced the instant the words emerged from her throat. She sounded like she was begging to be a part of his next felag. She straightened her shoulders. “But one day, I will go as the leader of my own felag. I will get enough gold for the proper-sized ship.” 

“You are very determined.” His soft voice curled about her insides. Rey concentrated on breathing. Kylo was used to women falling at his feet. Particularly those seeking to be honor-wives. Sweet-tempered ones, buxom blondes who knew Danish customs. Ones who didn’t have inconvenient relatives, but did have accommodating thighs. Ones who listened, but forgot to open their mouths, except for his tongue. The description for a woman of every man’s dream. The type of woman who warmed a man’s bed when he could be bothered, but who played no other part in his life. Blondes who asked for no more than what a man was prepared to give.

Much like a certain blonde with a come-hither smile and plump bosom.

The blondes continually flowed backwards and forwards like a tide. No doubt Rey inadvertently helped his reputation.

“Had you seen many pretty women in your quest to find a bond-wife?” she asked to distract her thoughts from the shadowy hollow in his throat.

 _Why do you plan to go to the north? To find a bride?_ They racked their brains for what Kylo had said about his story. 

Not him. He wanted a woman he could share his life with. He required a wife, not a frilla. 

He gave a rich laugh and took a step further. “What is it about feasts that brings out the matchmaker in every woman?”

The truth was that he hadn’t paid much attention. Rey’d been grateful for a way into the shadows and hiding, half-expecting every knock on the door to bring another Jarl wife and her daughter. 

Rey carefully shrugged. “You must have been seeking a wife or you would not have offered for me.”

_Only the son of Leidvar would find a reason why he needs to be somewhere else rather than bride-hunting._

“I could have found my own wife,” he said without moving away. “My requirements were very exacting to my imaginary playmate.”

Kylo had told his usual far-fetched tales. The planes on his face hardened to chiseled stone. _I have lands to tame. What good is having a bride if she shivers without a proper house to keep her? What good children if they starve because you failed to have enough stores because you lack the proper buildings? Once I know for certain they can survive, I will find my bride._

His gaze honed in on her mouth as sure as an arrow shot from a hunter’s bow. The very air between them crackled with energy. She knew all she had to do was to lean forward and she’d see if his lips moving over hers matched her dreams.

A loud laugh punctuated the air and broke the spell. Rey rapidly stepped back. She hoped the shadows hid the burn in her cheeks. If she’d given in to her impulse and kissed him, he would have recoiled in horror, or, worse, laughed at her folly. How could she ever forget what she was and what people thought of her?

“I knew from the start, Wolf, you brought ill tidings. I… that is we… should return to the feast. The skald has finished with the Tyrfing saga.”

“Together? Aren’t you afraid people will talk?” His voice rippled over her skin, doing strange things to her insides.

~oOo~

His brotherhood was known to be avid fools, spending many evenings draining their horns in Loki’s honor and wandering the streets of Skywalkerland in disguise and playing tricks on its residents. That debauched night of its alleged occurrence, a wager had been made. As Kylo’d reached his land, he slowed his stride and thought about what he needed to do until it bent his mind. This was an impossible situation. He had a woman he wanted to take but couldn’t and all the women he could have, but never wanted. A never-ending ridiculous circle.

When he’d entered her bedchamber, Rey was in her bedclothes lying with her back to the door. Her two wolfhounds leapt out to greet him. His mood always improved when he encountered them. Kata, the older, gave a sharp bark as if to ask where he’d been. 

“Shhh. Men’s business,” he said to the pair who cocked their heads to one side and gave the impression of understanding him.

“Behave and don’t look at Mama and Papa’s wicked deeds.”

Kati, the brindle one of the pair, whimpered, reminding him various chores had not been done as night fell such as feeding the cattle and making sure the pigs were properly slopped out, things he’d been doing when the brothers appeared. He could’ve ordered one of his men to do the night-time chores, but he enjoyed the simple tasks which were a world away from the stink and filth of battle.

The dogs looked at him with tilted heads and he shut them out.

Rey seemed to be asleep. He came in, stripped down, and climbed into bed. As Rey felt him beside her, it was as if he were Loki himself; she flew out of bed and shuddered. Noticing his nakedness, she had turned and cried, “My Lord, I believe your mother, the Queen, made herself perfectly clear. If you wish to sleep in this chamber, please have the servants make up another for me.”

He didn’t goad her the way he did most nights. His teasing was mild at best, but there was banging and the howling wolf pups scratching at the door, her ladies interrupted a moment that went on too long. Rey made a face as if she smelled something sour, she exhaled slowly. 

She escaped… something.

“A ruse worthy of the trickster Loki. Open the door,” she all but growled at him.

“I will not,” he refused. He was mead-addled, frustrated, and generally disagreeable. 

Smothered laughter reminded them that they were not alone. Rey seemed to draw Kylo’s attention so completely that everyone else faded into the background while in her presence — a dangerous weakness to have.

“I have chaperones.” She pointed to Apailana and Inger.

Kylo snorted. “Two females. What kind of safety do they offer if a man decides to take what he already thinks is his? Especially when she offered it up in such desirable wrapping?”

Rey gasped at his blatant reference to the intimacy between a man and a wife. Was that why he sought her now? He could not stop the grin that lifted on his lips. She was beautiful, but especially so when she was angry. She looked like an avenging angel. All she needed was a glowing sword. 

“What happened to the others?” Rey asked as it became increasingly clear that Kylo’s men had deserted Skywalker’s cold hall for their own homes rather than bedding down there. 

“Probably fucking somewhere. I manage well enough on my own. I can even brew ale and boil meat. My men’s wives turn their hand to the spindle and loom as well as any and I enjoy the silence. Years of warring.”

He gave a superior sort of smile, but one which made his features breathtaking. One smile and the women in his life must melt and do his bidding. She resolved she would not join the legion of panting followers. 

“Don’t even think it, cockbrain.”

Rey stomped her foot. The laughter Kylo held rolled out. “Did you just stomp your foot?”

“Oh, gods, when will morning come?” She stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes on him. 

“Alas, if you wish to leave, we could both ride somewhere.”

“You’d truly like to brolta a maga, wouldn’t you?”

“Precitely! A man like you and a woman like me?”

“ _Precitely?_ Go stroke your plow-sword!”

He tightened his grasp on her. “Oh, come now, Rey. You know better than to believe what I say in drink!”

Sensing the change in atmosphere, Kati gave a small whine and Rey recoiled.

The words cut deeper than they should have. She should be used to it after her comrades’ barbs, but that small part of her which hoped her late father had been wrong had never been entirely extinguished. Somewhere in this world there had to be a man who would appreciate what she brought to a marriage and treat her with respect. Right now, she’d settle for safety and that meant finding somewhere far from Kylo’s influence.

“Thank you for the clarity,” she said in a tight voice.

All the amusement meant fled from his face. “Pardon for any offense. I merely meant—”

“I’m going to spare your life because I understand you have been fooled here.” She made a curtsy.

“F-fucking ball-buster!” Rey watched Kylo stride away into the murky gloom. She had spurned any further attempts of intimacy. 

It wasn’t him, it was the entire concept of sex she objected to. Her sex would be for love. Maybe in time… She had rejected the thought before it started. She was not going to start weaving wishes again.

~oOo~

Kylo struggled to control his temper as he strode towards the barn. The biting summer rain helped to cool him off. This woman, this cockteasing witch, had no idea about him or the way he might behave.

He concentrated on the mundane tasks, while promising himself in the morning he’d break their stalemate one way or another.

So he continued to taunt her most nights in his unhurried way, but she got him back. Spilling mead on his boots at feasts. Serving food to others first, giving his portion last. Or not at all. His self-assured gaze would follow her before the warrior got off his seat, giving her a slight nod as he ambled off to fetch his food. 

He was more used to the company of warriors than ladies. It was something he had tried to work on before he’d traveled north to woo.

Ladies _did_ expect a certain amount of honey-coated words when they were wooed. 

It was his rich laugh that warmed her toes. Rey possessed a tart tongue and was unafraid to mince words. Perhaps she should learn honey-coating as well. Curbing her tongue had always been a problem. 

Besting him thrilled her, made her blood race at their strange game of cat and mouse. She regarded him from under her lashes with those gold-flecked eyes, she had an inkling that Kylo felt it too. Yet, he’d never groped her and never demanded she lay with him again. He’d not touched her at all.

Kylo ran a hand through his hair. Better she went now before he started to hope for the curse’s end. Before he was responsible for a woman’s death. And Rey acted without thinking things through properly.

 _Get through this night._ His brow lowered. He saw no point in acquiring women when he’d have to endure their prattling and twittering company.

_Endure their company._

He had kept quiet about his views on women and their usefulness. He liked his mother, of course. And his aunts. And a few of the servants he’d known since childhood.

There was never a right time or a right place. Other than fighting over who should have the right to be in his bed, most women fluttered about like birds, chirped up all the time about nonsense until his back teeth ached and left messes to be cleaned up.

Alas: Rey.

A dimple shone in his cheek. She didn’t have time to trade barbs with him this night. Other matters hung over her head.

_The witch woman is Kylo’s creature, though she pretends otherwise._

_Is it her eye the man fears? Is that why he wanted to send her away? It is said the witch woman’s eyes would only bring sorrow._

Kylo’s heart clenched. Typical Rey thinking, blaming herself when Kylo knew the truth — it was him they didn’t want.

_If he faces the rebels, he will die. That is his destiny._

_I make my OWN destiny._

In the silence, Rey sniffled and surreptitiously rubbed her eyes.

How was it her ears found his voice in all the noise? The Dane was never friendly. His temper was far too short. He’d a certain disregard for the niceties of polite conversation and little care for life’s luxuries. Past women had detailed his defects.

He agreed with their assessment that his solid reasons for not marrying had been excuses. The gods save him from meddlesome women. His mother had been like that, but she had done it from a good heart. He had no idea what sort of hearts these women had. They simply had worn those proud looks as if they expected everyone to bow down before them.

_I will provide you with a wife, the perfect wife for your new venture, one you can get sons on._

The drunken prattles went on. 

_You require a northern bride, but you have land to till, a hall to build. You admirably hold fast to the vow you gave to your mother before you departed, the one about only marrying a worthy northern woman. Isn’t that the excuse you gave to that Irish warlord who commanded you to marry his daughter last season? The redhead who gave you hungry glances and had no eyes for anyone else?_

_The same excuse you gave that pretty widow from Bernicia with her many acres of land._

_Or one of the dozen other women who have buzzed around you like bees searching for a honey pot. You’ve acquired your land. What excuses are you going to give for failing to travel northwards and find this elusive bride of yours?_

They exaggerated as usual. No man or woman dictated what he should do or who he should marry. He’d earned the right to make his own choice.

The sort of bride he had in mind had been entirely different from what they kept offering. He had traveled to Isaland to find her, like he’d vowed to his mother, and she’d melted his frozen heart. Kylo buried the unexpected feeling down deep. It was merely because he had been busy with the estate, rather than seeking her companionship.

Then he and Rey should be friends as they’ve both avoided something that was destined to make them unhappy.

He examined her from hooded eyes. Could they ever be friends?

Rey liked to think they could be. Fakse said her parents had a deep friendship until her mother’s death. She’d listened to her father’s despairing sobs after every feast until his death. 

A fragile-framed servant balanced pitchers in both hands, wending her way around tables and men. She plunked down the overflowing vessels on Kylo’s table. 

“So tonight we celebrate, my honored guests. Eat and drink your fill… for tomorrow we ride into battle,” his mother finished her recital.

A Jarl had approached the Queen. “My lady. There is something that is troubling our soldiers.”

“How distressing. Pray tell.”

“We had hoped also to meet your daughter, Reynhildur. We have heard much of her Odin’s sight. It’s said the sorceress refuses to stand by the prince’s side.”

“Soldiers will fall prey to... idle palace gossip. You have my word.” 

“If the men are to fight, to die, they may need more than that.”

“Do you doubt my word?”

“It is not that, lady. It’s just that she is a symbol from which the men derive courage. Symbols are most effective when seen.”

All murmured.

“She will be toiling at her work, as ever. But be forewarned, she shuns the company of others.”

“I could summon her back to the feast if you’d like, Mother.”

“That would please me, son. You will find her in the grotto, up the path, within the circle of stones. Have a care, though. You are safe in my presence, but you wander her respite at your peril.”

“I will be persuasive.”

“And, Bengeirr… be kind. Rey is… different from you and I.”

~oOo~

“About us?” She made her voice drip with scorn. “Please give me some credit for knowing my reputation. Stealing kisses in the dark with a sea king, betrothed or not, would be dismissed as far too fantastical to be credited.”

“Some people are blind.” He put a firm hand on her back. “After you, Shieldmaiden.” 

The noise fell to a deafening silence as everyone turned to look at them. Several people’s mouths fell open and three women started whispering, putting their heads together and pointing.

One of the more drunken guests called out in jest that Kylo the Wren was seeking to bypass the required challenge for her hand. Someone else took up the cry and the word ‘challenge’ reverberated from the rafters.

Rey’s cheeks burnt fire. She bared her teeth in a fierce scowl designed to silence the crowd. “The people who set a scorn here will be hunted down by the nissers... don’t run away... you cannot hide!” She glanced around the room as if they might suddenly appear. 

When the jesters fell quiet, she started towards her place. However Kylo grabbed her elbow, pinning her to his side.

“Keep still,” he demanded.

“Why? These people are best ignored. I am going to walk back to my seat and forget this ever happened. There will be no challenge.”

Kylo held up his palm, calling for silence. The room became a sea of expectant faces. “There is something I wish to declare.”

Rey frowned. Kylo couldn’t take these jibes seriously. A great hollow opened in the pit of her stomach. She knew what was coming next — humiliation as he made it clear it had all been a mistake and he had no interest in her. She twisted her elbow.

“Let me return to my seat in peace.”

His face became hardened planes. “You might wish to stay.”

“Doubtful. You have had your fun, now let me go.” She took another step towards the high table.

“Have it your way, but I did warn you.”

“Go on, Kylo the Wren. What does a sea king want with this feast?” Lodmund Tekla called from the high table where he sat with his mother. “What does he want from the Shieldmaiden? Was there something more to your bond? You spoke of her with a particular shine in your eyes.”

“We grew very close, very quickly. Is that what you mean?”

“If I were you, I might’ve tested the waters,” Beimuni the Keen threw a wink. “Kylo the Wren, entangled by a hardy jarlskona as she leads her army to victory and prosperity. A rather appealing match,” he guffawed.

“I’m going to pretend your last words were taken by the world wind.”

Kylo reached out and captured her wrist, pulling her towards him. She missed her step and went tumbling against his hard body. “I wish to take up Rey God-Eye’s challenge and fight for her hand.”

Rey stared at the large Dane in disbelief. She had to have heard wrong. He wanted to marry her without besmirched honor? He desired her above all others? What new form of torture was this?

“Now I know you have had too much ale!” she gasped out, pulling away from him.

“There is only one way to win the hand of fair Rey,” someone called out. “Fight her.”

He inclined his head, but the traces of an ironic smile touched his lips. “Any challenge of this nature needs to be issued in front of everyone. I’d no wish to disrupt proceedings earlier, but I’ve waited long enough. I will win the prize you promised all those years ago.”

A hard knot formed in the base of her stomach. Her father’s words had been designed to teach her the ultimate lesson in humiliation until she took back her power. Was that what Kylo desired also? She longed to see his arrogant face humbled.

“Why? Because your chosen bride preferred solitude? Have I not mentioned I enjoy the quiet?” she asked in a furious undertone. “Go ahead. Have your boorish joke, laugh about it with your friends and comrades, but I don’t fight with ale-soaked warriors. There is no sport in it.”

“I assure you I am quite sober.” He tapped his fingers together. “But you do bring up a good point. You were responsible for my clouded judgment. And my judgment is what keeps all of us alive. Will you fight and prove yourself worthy of the title or nei?”

“You think you can defeat me?”

“There is one way to find out.” His stone-cold eyes met hers. “Fight me.”

Rey stared at him in disbelief. This could not be happening to her. No man had wanted her. Ever. How many times had her father told her that? How many times had she heard the whispers which followed when she entered a new market town? 

“How do you answer, Rey God’s-Eye? The entire hall waits,” the prince said. “A warrior such as Kylo the Wren deserves a proper response when he issues a challenge.”

Rey swallowed hard. She hated that her pulse raced at the thought that Kylo might truly want her. She rejected the idea instantly as absurd. Standing there, all arrogant in his sea-king finery, he was confident of victory and clearly planned to reject her as a wife after she’d lost. He then lay claim to the land as the better warrior. 

She jutted her jaw out. She knew how to fight and how to win. She could defeat any man, but she also knew about choosing her battles. 

“And your answer, Shieldmaiden?” the Lawspeaker inquired in a silken tone. 

She took a deep breath. “My father died twelve years ago. That particular challenge has no relevance under Dane laws and customs.” 

The entire hall erupted in pandemonium as people took sides. Lodmund rapped his staff on the floor. “The maiden is within her rights. A dead man’s challenge does not have to be honored.” 

“Then I make another.” Kylo’s eyes sharpened to daggers. “Rey God’s-Eye, I challenge you for the beautiful swathes you command against my ships and gold.”

Rey blinked. “What are you saying?”

“If I win, your heart becomes mine. If you win, I go into your service and my entire fortune will be at your disposal for one year.”

The entire feast went silent. No one moved. Even the servants stayed still like frozen statues. 

Rey clutched her hands together. Kylo was offering her gold and ships. Enough to go to Byzantium? This was her opportunity if she was brave enough to take it. But… there had to be a catch. “No man wagers such a thing. Your entire fortune on one contest? Are you mad?”

“Are you afraid to lose?” Kylo stood there, muscles taught, his face seemingly carved from ice. “Are you willing to admit I am the better warrior?”

Rey examined the floor. If she refused, the Queen would have grounds never to entrust her with a felag. She might even take the cauldron and its secrets away on the pretext that Rey would never be as good a warrior as Kylo. She could almost hear the Queen forming the words now.

How could she make sure Faske was alive and safe then? And if she accepted? Her heart beat a little faster. She could wipe the floor with him. Box his ears and harvest his nuts. Her earlier hesitation had been nerves.

“Give me a moment. I need to consider.”

“The offer is only good for tonight, Shieldmaiden.” Kylo gave an arrogant laugh. “Time to test your powers against a real warrior, or are you afraid of the truth?”

“The truth?”

“You won’t fight because you know you will lose.” He lowered his voice. “Because you have been living on a misplaced reputation and are past your best.” 

She raised her head and met his stare head-on. “I’ve never run from a fight in my life. I accept with pleasure and look forward to putting your ships to good use.”

His proffered hand was well shaped with long fingers and well-groomed nails, but it was also the muscular hand of a warrior. Rey gulped and returned his clasp with all her strength. She could defeat him, just as she had defeated every other man who tried. This time, she hoped that he wouldn’t hate her for it. 

“It is settled, then. We meet after dawn has broken.”

She started. “Why not now?”

“I hardly wish to be accused of taking advantage of you… in the dark.”

Her face burnt as laughter rang out from the crowd. She balled her fists. That warrior would be laughing on the other side of his face when she was through with him.

“In the morning, after the crow crows five times will be the proper time for the match,” Kylo declared. “Rey has choice of weapons.”

“I choose the sword and shield,” Rey said. 

Kylo inclined his head. “The sword it shall be. I should warn you, Rey, I’ve never lost a bout which counted. Should you wish to withdraw before the match, we can agree terms.”

“Why would I want to withdraw? I have yet to lose a match myself,” Rey retorted, giving him a furious glare. She was fighting for her heart and her freedom, he was only fighting for glory.

Rey sank down on a bench while pandemonium raged around her and everyone began laying bets on who would win. The enormity of what she had done sunk in. She was going to fight a sea king, someone who had carved his legend with his sword, not some youthful farmer who had never been in battle or a drunken warrior way past his prime. 

And she had to win or else she’d lose everything.

~oOo~

In spite of the late night, she woke early and for several moments lay still beneath the gold coverlet, enjoying the comfortable warmth of the bed. Though the first gray light of the summer dawn was filtering through the shutters, she could hear no sound of the birdsong and the crow had yet to crow. Only the Queen’s gentle snores broke the heavy stillness of the new day. Inger would not stir for a while yet. Rey rose quickly for the air was chill, pulling the gown over her linen kirtle and sliding her feet into leather shoes. Then, throwing a mantle about her shoulders, pausing once to glance back. The Queen slept on. For a moment, Rey watched, her feelings a strange fusion of love and disappointment. She had trusted her. Even now she could hear her words: _The runes never lie._ But the runes had lied, and the Queen had been wrong. Immediately Rey unbraided herself. Why should she be surprised to discover human fallibility? She wasn’t a child, for heaven’s sake. It was time to face facts and shoulder responsibilities that fell to her.

Rey left the women’s bower and made her way through the hall. It was not her most direct route, but she was hungry and knew there would be a fair chance of finding something to eat without summoning a servant. All about her, men lay snoring on the rushes among the scraps of food, or sprawled on benches and tables among the debris of the feast. After the copious quantities of mead and ale they had drunk she had no fear of waking the sleepers and guessed there would be a few sore heads this morning. She retrieved part of a loaf from the table and broke a piece off. It was growing stale, but it would do for now. Chewing on the bread, she made her way silently among the sleeping forms, wrinkling her nose at air thick with the reek of smoke and spilled ale and male sweat, skirting the hearth where the remaining embers of the fire smouldered in mounds of gray ash. Hearing her approach, Kata and Kati looked up from their slumber, but the low rumbling growl died in their throats as they recognized her. Kata got to her feet, wagging her tail, shoving her nose into Rey’s hand. She stroked her wiry head absently and then moved on towards the door, eager to be gone for the confines of the hall were stifling and a sharp reminder of things she wished to forget.

The side door was ajar, a clear indication that she was not the first abroad. Through the gap she could see a man relieving himself in the middle across the way. He had his back to her, but from his dress she guessed him to be one of Kylo’s appointed nursemaids. Rey seized the moment to slip out and round the end of the hall. From this vantage point she could observe without being seen. Presently after having asked the call of nature, the man returned whence he came and Rey was able to make her way to the stables unnoticed. 

Here too, all was quiet, for even the serfs were not stirring yet. They had taken their fill of Skywalker’s bounty the previous evening and there was none to mark her passage along the row of stalls to the one where Baby was tethered. Hearing her approach, the bay mare turned her head and whinnied gently. Rey reached for the bridle hanging on the peg and slipped into the stall. Minutes later she was leading the horse out. Once in the open air, she vaulted astride and headed for the gate. The watchman roused himself and, responding to her greeting, swung the portal open. Rey held Baby to a walk and as they passed the houses in the town. Here were signs of life: a spiral of smoke from a roof, a dog scratching himself before an open door. She suspected it would be much later before those in the hall roused themselves. Glad to escape for a time, Rey breathed the cool night air gratefully, though it could not dispel her somber mood or the memories that occasioned it. Later she would return and play her part before them all. 

The stars were out by the millions. She looked up and instantly felt engulfed from the size of the sky. The darkness above held beautiful hues of blue and purple, and it made her wish she lived out in the open where she could look at the endless night sky as she went to sleep. 

Cold air flowed against her skin, making the goosebumps on her skin rise. She never felt more like herself when she was outdoors, feeling the sun or the moon on her face, breathing the fresh air, or smelling the sweet smell of morning glories blooming as dawn breaks.

She felt more at home with all those things than when she set foot in the palace. Her mother-in-law tried, but sometimes, Rey saw how different they were, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang in her chest with how distant she really felt. Striding along the Queen’s side, she was like a brown sparrow compared to one of her exotic peacocks. Yet Rey drew attention without effort.

Rey startled out of these somber thoughts when her horse stopped. She tightened her hold on the reigns, looking about her.

The full moon lit the space where her bout against Kylo would be held in the morning with a ghostly silver hue. Rey shivered slightly and tried to concentrate on how she wanted the bout to go. She paced the area, imagining what her first moves would be. Everything would hinge on those first crucial blows. If she could get Kylo on the back foot from the beginning, she would stand a very good chance of winning.

“Rey! Here I find you!” Her friend’s voice rang out from the shadows. 

“Sleep evaded me,” Rey admitted, turning towards where Apailana stood. “It seemed best to come out here and practice before the crowds started gathering.” 

“Little Helga and Freydis were crying their eyes out, convinced we are all doomed as you are bound to lose.” Apailana pressed her hands to her eyes. “No one can sleep when the girls weep.”

“What would they have me do? Back down? Give our respect away? Lose my reputation?” Rey gritted her teeth. “They should have more faith. We have everything to gain. Finally I will have the ships and men to make our fortune. Kylo is overly proud. He will make the first mistake.”

“Their mother told them that. Their father wanted to wager, but Helga and Freydis clawed at his face and told him not to be more of a fool than usual.”

“Hopefully the Queen is not regretting the match after all the trouble it has caused.” She shed her cloak and grabbed her favorite sword, the one that belonged to her mother, and a light shield.

“Did you have to accept? Don’t we have enough gold? Enough honor? We get by, Rey.”

“There is a world out there, waiting to be explored. Kylo’s defeat means I can realize my dreams.” Rey tried to stretch a sudden kink out of her back, the one that always came before she battled. Didn’t Apples understand what would have happened if she had refused? How much they would have lost? “And why should I give him anything?”

“You could have tried to reach an agreement.” Apailana grabbed her arm. “Found out what he really wanted. We have gold.” 

Rey tried to banish the memory of how they had nearly kissed. It was fantasy and folly on her part. In the second challenge, he’d never mentioned love.

“If I hadn’t accepted the challenge, I would have lost my reputation and any hope of retaining such valuable and strategic lands until I prove myself and Fakse is found.” She shook her friend’s hand off. “I’m not going to lose everything I have sweated to build.” 

“But… do you really think you can defeat a warrior with his reputation?”

“My own lady thinks I’ll lose.”

Apailana pulled her shawl tighter about her body. “Someone has to be practical and both you and Kylo are the dreamers in the clan.”

“I make my dreams happen.”

Apailana shook her head. “You’re fighting for your pride. You can’t stand the thought of not being the Shieldmaiden and being an ordinary woman again.”

“You talk a lot of nonsense, Apples. What shall I bring you from the East? Enough silk to make seven gowns?” 

“I think you ought to have an alternative plan… just in case…”

Rey adjusted Apailana’s shawl. In moments like these, she found it hard to believe how quickly her friend had grown up. Apailana was brave enough for the truth. “I’m going to win, Apples. I have to. If I’d refused, Mother Leidvar would never have trusted me with a ship again. And she would have stripped the sacred wisdoms from me. From us. Unlike men, I have to win and keep on winning. Luckily I find it easy to do so.”

~oOo~

“Look after these for me, Poe,” Kylo said, handing his friend his arm rings as he finished his preparations for the bout with Rey. “I don’t want to get them damaged in the fight.”

Poe accepted the rings, siding them on his forearm. “Can you accept a woman as overlord for a year? I don’t know if I could. You are worse than me when it comes to letting a woman travel alone. Even with Apailana, who is bearing my child, I fear I will lose her.”

“What else can I do but give the woman I desire the opportunity to earn her freedom?” Kylo laughed. He followed his father’s path and kept the two sides of his life inseparable. He had seen from his father what happened when a man hid behind a woman’s skirts. 

Rey was the key to gaining control of the headland, but he would prove once and for all time that he was the best warrior to hold it. 

He was going to win. Rey might enjoy a certain reputation forged in battle, but she had not dabbled in hugr magic. She had fought for everything as he had. For so long they made dark magics in Snær’s tower. Enchantment was seeped into its very walls. The wind and snow had gnawed that tower to the very bone. Soon he would knock it down. 

“That does not answer my question.” 

“I hold your pledge. You follow me, not the other way around.” Kylo gave Poe a hard look. His second-in-command was doubting his ability? Everyone might think Rey God’s-Eye could fight, but had she ever come up against any real opposition? “Do you wish to become an oath breaker because of something which might not happen? You are worse than a crazy old monk.”

“But do you think you will win?”

Kylo did a few squats to loosen his legs up. “My sword arm forged my reputation. Every man or woman has a weakness. The question is how to exploit it.” He thought about how Rey had trembled when she stood next to him. She felt the attraction as well. She would end up in his bed. By Freya’s cats, she probably hated the front of toughness she had to put up. She needed a real warrior in her life. “And I know her weakness. She will concede with me barely breaking a sweat.”

“And you haven’t forgotten the promise you owe me.” 

“I pay my debts, Poe. Always.” Kylo did several practice swipes with his sword. It would be easy to tame his shieldmaiden. King Ozur had cleverly talked up her prowess in order to keep rivals from claiming the bay. But he looked forward to exposing the lie and gaining the woman.

“Where is this land of hers that you covet?”

“The icy mountain peaks which first attracted me to her and the golden hillocks round to the back.” Kylo clenched his fist as he considered his rival sea king, Bloodaxe Eymundsson, and the trouble he had caused her over the years. The alliance with King Ozur would bring him from his hiding place to attack. “It will be enough to force Bloodaxe to act if he truly intends to cause mischief. I agree with my mother. Someone here is alerting the Draugr King to the movements of the ships and until we discover his identity, we have a little hope of stopping it except stationing our ships where they can exercise control of the bay.”

“After you have dealt with Bloodaxe? What happens then? Will we be forced to make the trip east once again? You know how many men we lost on our last trip to Miklagard.”

“We will do well there, Poe — no more Desolation Pass or Heartbreak Rapids for us. Time for Rey to learn there is more to being a warrior than a scowl, swagger and a gleaming sword.”

Poe’s face cleared. “Ah, I see you are thinking with your head.”

Kylo turned his unflinching gaze on his second-in-command. “Since when do I think with any other part of me?”

~oOo~

The cleared area looked very different in the early-morning sunlight from the way it had last night — larger and more open with less chance to hide. Her stomach clenched. She’d forgotten how much she hated being the center of attention.

Despite the hour, a great crowd thronged around the perimeter. It seemed as though the entire village plus a good portion of the countryside were here to watch her fight. Rey elbowed her way through to the empty arena. She ground her teeth. She’d deliberately arrived late to put pressure on Kylo, only to find that he was even later.

“Where is Kylo?” She shaded her eyes and surveyed the crowd. “Perhaps the great sea king has thought better of his challenge?”

A hush fell over the crowd and they fell back, parting like waves on the shore.

Her breath stopped in her throat. Kylo had not only shed his cloak. He had also shed his tunic. His muscular chest and broad shoulders gleamed in the early-morning sun. 

“I wanted to make sure you knew what you might be getting,” he said.

And then he made his tits dance.

Rey pressed her lips together. Arrogant in the extreme. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t do the same.”

His eyes roamed her figure. “I look forward to having the pleasure of unwrapping you later.” 

She deepened her scowl and banished the bubbly feeling to a far corner of her brain. “That depends on the outcome of this bout.”

“That outcome is not in doubt.” A faint smile touched his lips. “But if I should lose, I shall be at _your_ service… one year. Think about that. I will be bound to do whatever service you require without question or hesitation for an entire year.”

Her face flamed like it was on fire. He was talking about their joining, not about who would win this contest. She concentrated on the ground and attempted to restore some measure of calm. She had never before had any trouble focusing on the match, but now she was intensely aware of the man. “Why would you say that?”

“You made me a promise the other night. I intend to see it fulfilled.” 

“What promise?” She made the mistake of glancing at his face and was catapulted headlong into the fierceness of his gaze.

Her entire body tingled, but then she recalled that his reputation matched hers in the bedchamber, despite a line of women just waiting to bed him, and thought him like a wee boy playing with fire. The man didn’t know a wick from his dick.

Satisfied, she made a swipe with her sword. “Stop trying to twist things to your advantage.”

His smile widened.

“My mistake. Your body must have made the promise without informing your head.” He leant towards her and lowered his voice. “We will be good together, Rey. Think about that as we fight.”

She glowered at him. “I know your game, Kylo, and choose not to play it. Think about that as we fight. I am indifferent to you.”

Her heart beat far too fast, giving a lie to her words. But he couldn’t have guessed. Rey tightened her grip on her sword. He must never know of her attraction.

“You know nothing about me.” He gave a mock blow to his chest. “I’ll never break your heart, fair lady.”

“That’s because my heart will never be yours to break. I intend on teaching you a lesson. Shall we get on with it?” She shrugged. “It would be a shame to mark your skin, but then maybe next time you will not treat a woman opponent with such contempt.”

He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought his shirt. “The princess has accused me of distracting her. And here I thought you and your unbreakable heart impervious to my charms!”

Rey saluted him with her sword. “Your future daughters will thank me one day.”

“What makes you think I want any other woman to mother my children?”

He returned the salute as the noise from the crowd grew louder. Rey took three breaths and focused on his sword. The first few clashes would be to assess his strength and identify his weakness. Warriors always had a weakness. Once she found his, she could exploit it. His arrogance would assist her, but she’d need something more to make him overreach. She could almost taste the power she’d command once she’d won. 

Their swords clashed as he blocked her move and countered with a move that she easily blocked. 

“You’re not trying very hard.”

A wide smile split his face. “I’ve no wish to mark your skin, Valkyrie.”

“That is my concern.”

“Mine as well. I need to look after my bed-partner-to-be.”

Rey ground her teeth. She didn’t know which was worse — talking about marring her skin as if that mattered or proclaiming that it was a foregone conclusion that they’d share a bed whatever the outcome.

She redoubled her effort to focus and the battle began in earnest. Sword meeting shield and sword meeting sword. Each time she tried something, he had a counter for it. 

She had to admit that Kylo was highly skilled, a far better opponent then she had faced before. His strength matched his agility. This was no drunken sot trying his luck, or an aging farmer, but a seasoned warrior. 

Rivulets of sweat snaked down her face, nearly blinding her. With an impatient arm, she wiped them away. Surely he would make a mistake soon. Her light shield grew heavier and it took more effort to move it into place. But she forced her body to continue and to wait. Round and round the ring they went. One probing and then the other. Always searching for an opening, but not finding one. The cries of the crowd grew louder.

Despite her screaming back muscles she tried for a downward stroke. He blocked it with ease, but his eyes took on a triumphal gleam. 

Rey swallowed hard. She summoned all her remaining energy. One more burst and she knew she’d break him.

He went for a deceptively simple move, but Rey was ready with the counter-attack and managed to land a blow on his arm. She pressed her advantage and forced him on the back foot. He stumbled and fell. His sword landed a few inches from him. 

A wild exhilaration went through her. She had done it! He had made the first mistake. She was going to win. After this, no one would doubt her prowess. She’d be safe and her dreams would all come true. Her newfound family would be provided for and she would stop waking up at night with worry clawing at her gut. 

His lips turned up. “Definitely a Valkyrie. The last move proved it. You do Odin proud.”

“Will you yield?” she asked, standing over him with her sword point towards his neck. “You have lost your sword. I could drive my sword into your throat. Yield, Kylo the Wren, and I may spare your life.”

“Overconfidence will be your downfall, Valkyrie.”

His foot snaked out and caught her calf, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her cheek bumped against a rock and sent a pain ricocheting through her. The air went from her lungs with the unexpectedness from it. One instant she was on her feet and the next, staring up at the sky. Her shield slipped from her grasp.

He made a downward stroke which she raised her sword to block. To her horror, she mistimed the move and her sword arched through the air, landing quivering in the dirt several feet from her. 

“Will you yield, Valkyrie? he asked with his sword a breath away from her neck. “Will you concede to a man? To your husband?”

Rey collapsed back against the ground, utterly spent. Above her the clouds skittered across the sky and all about her was stunned silence from the crowd.

“I can’t rise without aid,” she whispered into the quiet.

Summoning the remaining bits of his energy, Kylo reached down with his hand and clasped hers. He pulled her to standing. Rey, with rivulets of sweat running down her face and her hair plastered to her skull, looked every bit as exhausted as he felt. But she was his now.

“It is over,” he said. “You’ve lost your sword. Would you lose your life as well?”

A solitary unheeded tear hovered in the corner of her eye. “Ja, it is over.”

Kylo glanced towards where his mother stood, stony-faced. She gave a slight nod, acknowledging the outcome.

“Rey God’s-Eye conceded!” He raised their clasped hands. “I claim victory. I claim Rey God’s-Eye and her favor.”

The entire throng hushed.

“What does the Shieldmaiden say?” someone called out. “Has she given way?”

“Go on,” he commanded. “Say it so they can hear.”

“Kylo is correct. He has won.” Rey’s shoulders slumped as she bowed her head. “I’ll honor my oath. My soul will be his.” 

“I claim everything, including your body!” 

At his words, the crowd burst into loud laughter and cheers. Kylo’s shoulders relaxed, but he kept hold of Rey’s wrist. Her expression of absolute horror intensified.

In all his years of fighting, he had never met a better opponent and he had begun to despair of losing, something he’d never experienced before.

Rey’s instant of hesitation had happened just after he’d sent a prayer towards any god who might be listening. Obviously Freya, the goddess of love and marriage, had been following the proceedings because he had suddenly known what to do and his strength had returned. He would honor the goddess today — by claiming Rey’s love.

“Marriage is not a death sentence,” he murmured, hating the bruised patch just under her eye. He had tried to be careful, but obviously there have been moments when his fighting instinct had taken over. 

Silently he vowed it would never happen again. He would ensure that his wife was properly looked after, not left to fend for herself in a hostile world. He would make it right. His wife should be dressed in furs and silks, not battling for her life.

“The date stands,” she growled, twisting slightly to free herself from his grasp.

Kylo concentrated and clung onto his prize — half to keep her next to him and half because if he let it go, he knew he’d collapse in a heap of spent muscle. 

“When would you consummate this curse of ours?” she ground out. The intensity of merging with him would be enough to blunt the fangs of Ragnarök, and the threat it posed would be so powerful but so beautiful that she’d have no choice but to surrender with reverence and with gratitude. “A week? Two weeks? How long will you give me to prepare?”

A fury swept over him. Like most women, she delighted in treachery and deception. She might have escaped him the other night by summoning her ladies, but he knew what she was capable of now. And he wasn’t minded to chase halfway around the world after her. 

This joining would take place now while he could bind the loyalty of those she commanded to him. She would learn her place in his household. He would have no need for roving women warriors — what he required was a wife.

“The cooks had best get busy. Another feast is required.” He gave a triumphant smile which took in all the onlookers. “The fucking takes place today!”

The crowd broke out in loud cheers.

All color drained from her face. “Today? Impossible. The wedding alone required arrangements. The proper alignment of the stars, the reading of portents and your grandfather’s sword…”

He slowly lowered her arms before letting her go. She staggered back a step. “Nothing is impossible to a determined man. And my determination has never been in doubt.”

“Why the speed?” She licked her lips and her eyes darted about the arena. She gave every impression of a cornered animal searching for the nearest bolthole.

“I would not put it past you to decide to go on a long voyage you claim is vital for everyone in the village or, worse, disappear into the world, dressed as a man.” He forced his mouth to smile as he cupped her cheek.

Her entire being bristled with anger and she turned her face away. “Having just returned from a long voyage, I wanted some months at home.” 

“These words are supposed to act as your guarantee?” He inclined his head. “Forgive me if I require more.”

“Snaking out your foot to trip me was unworthy.” Her mouth turned mulish, but he could see the latent hint of passion in it. 

“There was nothing in the rules, my lady, against tripping. I saw an opportunity and took it.”

“The only reason you challenged me was to prove a point. You are the better warrior than I am. Well, you’ve proved that. You can have the land you require without relying on my visions.”

Kylo watched her mouth. The exertion of the fight had turned it strawberry ripe and her tunic now clung to her body. His fingers itched to unwrap her. But he refused to give any woman power over him. He’d been told what gibbering wrecks men could become. When his grandmother or mor-mor passed, she did not change color at all; she was just as healthy pink and white as when she was alive as opposed to the gray tinge of death. Aki sat constantly watching her, believing that she would reawaken. He spent years mourning her death and all his people sorrowed because of his madness. Kylo had vowed never to allow a woman to touch his heart, a sentiment that his uncle had encouraged. 

“Why do you attempt to put words in my mouth?” he asked in a cold tone. “I know what we bargained for. I always claim what is mine by right and I do it in my fashion.”

Her eyes became an orange flame and she pulled her shoulders back. “My honor is without question. Do not suggest I would dishonor my oaths again. An oath is an oath. Silver-gilded and ironclad.”

“Rey, I marry a woman, not a man. Find a dress.”

Rey stared at him uncomprehending. “A dress?”

“You do own a dress… didn’t I buy you several?”

Rey released a breath and offered a prayer up to all goddesses in the Aesir and Vanir. At last, a way to postpone the evil day with dignity. Kylo wanted to marry a properly dressed bride. His request made sense given the finery he wore. She could use it, buy time and find a solution to the mess. Somehow she’d discover what he truly wanted before she started believing that he wanted her. It wasn’t over until the ceremony was done.

“My best dress burnt away in the fire, along with my dowry. What a pity. We will have to name another day when I can be attired in the sort of clothes fit for a sea king’s bride.”

“Buy one.” A glint showed in his eye as he raked her form. “Or come naked. There’s no third way. But I lay my hand on a woman. Today.”

Renewed anger flooded through her. Why in the name of Freya did he want her? And why did it have to be today? As much as the thought killed her, he was certain to find an instantly forgettable buxom blonde along the road who would attend to his physical needs. 

“Every other woman is smaller than me by at least a full head.” 

His smile became positively merciless. “That is not my problem. You do as I command.” 

She stood toe to toe with him. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll have you and anyone who helps declared outlaw and all their lands forfeit as well as yours.” He bowed low. “Your choice, Rey God’s-Eye. Time to decide. Do you actually care about your family and the people who work the land? Or do you just care about yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS**
> 
> Brolta a maga — “romp on the belly.”
> 
> **Fun Fact:** the concept of bond-wives and honor-wives came from this [article](https://io9.gizmodo.com/that-time-star-wars-was-fine-with-a-polygamous-jedi-1846254054) about Cerean polygamist Jedi Ki-Adi-Mundi, or the Geatish jarl known as Kveldulf in this story. Where love, sex and adultery are concerned, Vikings seemed to have a certain kind of double standard: (1) A man could be outlawed for making a love poem about a woman, and she could risk that her reputation was destroyed. (2) On the other hand, a man could have several children with mistresses, and an unmarried woman could have a child without ruining her chances of getting married. With adultery, the same double standards or contradictions are expressed in the accounts of Adam of Bremen (1070 AD) who told that adultery was fineable, even punished by death: “Men are sentenced to death for committing adultery, while women are sold as slaves. Rape of virgins is punishable by death.” Nevertheless, men were permitted to take mistresses. The same Adam of Bremen wrote that: “Every man has two, three or more wives at the same time, depending on his wealth and fortune. Those who are rich and affluent have innumerable wives. When the feelings of the bride and groom weren’t taken into consideration when two people married, you might expect that quite a few would seek love elsewhere, and they did. The sagas and the law confirm it was in a way socially accepted that _some_ men had mistresses or “frille.” And some women probably did have other lovers than their husbands. But their husbands were regarded as the father of their children.


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